


Marrow

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Law & Order: SVU, Oz (TV), X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Ableist Language, Age Difference, Angst, Case Fic, Child Abuse, Coercion, Cutting, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Homophobic Language, Lies, Lots of bad things happening, M/M, Mutant Powers, Mutant Rights, Prison Sex, Psychological Trauma, Racist Language, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sexual Abuse, Statutory Rape, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicide, Tattoos, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, Unsafe Sex, Violence, this will not end well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-09
Updated: 2005-10-09
Packaged: 2018-01-16 15:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 63,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1352107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two new inmates at the Oswald State Penitentiary cause scandal and angst inside and outside the walls. Their status as mutants puts them on the radar of the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, but they also may be the key to putting away a particularly odious criminal, and Olivia Benson's not letting this lead go without a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was my very first publicly-posted fanfic, back in my misspent youth. It's not perfect, but I still have a fondness for it. Many thanks to Willow and Maya for the beta-ing and support; remaining cock-ups are my fault.
> 
> You could likely follow the main points of this fic without any previous familiarity with Oz or Law & Order: SVU (though you might miss some nuances), but knowing at least the basic premise of X-Men is probably essential.
> 
> Please do check the tags and mind all the warnings!

_"But the effort, the effort! And as the marrow is eaten out of a man's bones and the soul out of his belly, contending with the strange rapacity of savage life, the lower stage of creation, he cannot make the effort any more."_  
-Cicero

 **SVU Squad Room, New York City**  
Olivia Benson flipped through the day's transcript. In the evening, with nothing to  
go home to but an empty apartment, she had time. She desperately wanted to know how Alex had done, how she had handled this particular witness. Even on paper, Olivia could hear the soft, lilting Cajun accent of the kid, the defendant, Benjamin Landry. She couldn't imagine him in a suit, sitting at the defense table. Her only image was of him in interview room four, beat-up jeans and a t-shirt, ratty tennis shoes and unruly, brown curls falling into his eyes as Fin put a hand on his shoulder to prevent him from getting up. What had come up at trial that Landry hadn't said in that room? She flipped to the second page of the transcript.

 

Pg. 2 Trial Part 22 State vs. Landry  
Honorable Judge Irving Lawrence, presiding  
Asst. District Attorney Alexandra Cabbot: prosecuting attorney  
Matthew Solomon: counsel for the defense  
Benjamin Landry: defendant. 

MS: Tell me about your relationship with the Castille family.  
BL: I've known Henri Castille since I was little. He'd hang out at school to play sports in the afternoons, and I hung out there cuz I had nowhere else to go. The older boys let me chase balls and run to the gas station down the street to get 'em Cokes. Henri was real nice to me. He would invite me over to his house for dinner sometimes, which I liked 'cuz it meant I got something good to eat.  
MS: And that's where you met Henri's father.  
BL: Yes, Mr. Castille. Henri's mom was dead, so he had a nanny, who was Creole.  
Mr. Castille asked about my folks, and he found out I was a ward of the state, with no one looking after me, really. Mr. Castille told me I was free to come over to the house whenever I wanted. And I did spend a lot of time at the Castille's house, one of those big plantation-style houses, in a real nice neighborhood.  
MS: What was your relationship to Mr. Castille?  
BL: My relationship? Well, when Henri wasn't home, Mr. Castille would talk to me. It's not that he wasn't nice; I didn't really know how to act around a grown up, specially a gentlemen like Mr. Castille. But he was real interested in me. The summer I turned thirteen, Henri went to camp for the summer, but Mr. Castille said I should stay with him at the house, and he gave me a guest room. That was when I started doing special things for him.  
MS: What do you mean by special things?  
BL: Well. Things.  
MS: You mean sexual acts.  
BL: Yeah.  
MS: So you had a sexual relationship with Mr. Remy Castille.  
BL: Yeah.  
MS: How did Henri Castille react to that?  
BL: Well, when Henri came home, I didn't want him to find out about me and his dad, but I guess Mr. Castille told him. Anyway, we weren't really friends no more after that, but Henri wanted some of the same things his father did.  
MS: You mean sex?  
BL: Yes, sex.  
MS: So you began a sexual relationship with Henri Castille?  
BL: I guess.  
MS: So you were having sexual relations with both Remy and Henri Castille.  
BL: Yes.  
MS: That's all, your honor.  
HJIL: Your witness, Ms. Cabbot.  
AC: Mr. Landry, where were you officially living while you attended grade school?  
BL: That would be St. Vincent's, ma'am.  
AC: St. Vincent's Home for Boys.  
BL: Yes ma'am.  
AC: But you say that you were living with the Castilles.  
BL: Yes.  
AC: When was that?  
BL: Well, from the summer of, um, 2003 until we came to New York, I guess.  
AC: Which was when?  
BL: In May.  
AC: Of 2005?  
BL: Yes ma'am.  
AC: So you lived with the Castilles for three years.  
BL: Yes.  
AC: And during that time you were being sexually abused by Remy and Henri Castille?  
BL: No.  
AC: No? No you weren't having sex with Remy and Henri Castille?  
BL: No, I mean, I wasn't being abused.  
AC: I see. Do you know how old Remy Castille was in 2003?  
BL: No, not really.  
AC: Older than 18?  
BL: Well, of course.  
AC: Older than 20.  
BL: Yes.  
AC: Older than 30.  
BL: Yes.  
AC: Older than 40.  
BL: I don't know, ma'am. Maybe.  
AC: Older than 50?  
BL: No, no he wasn't older than 50.  
AC: Your honor, let the record show that Remy Castille was 54 years old during the summer of 2003, the beginning of the alleged abuse. Mr. Landry, how old was Henri  
Castille that summer?  
BL: I know this for sure. He was going into eleventh grade, and he was sixteen.  
AC: And how old were you?  
BL: Thirteen, ma'am.  
AC: Okay. Mr. Landry, you said that you didn't want Henri Castille to find out about the "special things" you did with his father. Can you tell me why that was?  
BL: Well, they were private.  
AC: Anything else?  
BL: He was my friend, and I just didn't want him to know.  
AC: Because it was wrong, what Mr. Castille was doing to you?  
BL: No, ma'am.  
AC: Mr. Landry, do you know what statutory rape means?  
MS: Objection, your honor.  
HJIL: Sustained. You've made your point, Ms. Cabbot. Let's move on.

"Hey." 

Olivia started at the sound of the voice, and turned to see the Assistant DA herself standing in the door of the squad room, hands wrapped around a Starbuck's cup. "Hey, Alex."

Alex Cabbot nodded to the papers open on Olivia's desk. "That the transcript?"

Olivia turned the stapled packet over, a bit guiltily. "Yes."

"So what do you think?"

Olivia sighed, leaning back in her chair and gesturing to Alex to help herself to Munch's unoccupied desk. "I don't know how you do it."

Alex, frowning, sipped her coffee. "I do what I have to. That kid doesn't deserve to be prosecuted in federal court, but that's not my decision. Besides, with any luck his testimony will be admissible when we try Remy Castille, even if Landry won't testify himself."

"How is the case against Castille?" Olivia asked.

"Shoddy. Damn shoddy. Circumstantial evidence mostly. If we had Landry's testimony maybe, but..." She shrugged, frustrated. 

"And Solomon still doesn't want to deal?"

"No. It's ridiculous, really. He can't think he's going to get an acquittal. He may be hoping for a hung jury, that based on the kid's age and circumstances some bleeding heart jury member will refuse to convict, but aside from that, he's got no case."

"Maybe he knows something you don't."

"For the kid's sake, I hope so. Landry could get the death penalty if they convict on all the charges."

"Jesus. Isn't he too young for that?"

"Unfortunately, no. Ordinarily he would be, but since Mississippi is prosecuting him as an adult, we have to follow suit under our "Once an Adult, Always an Adult" clause. The same clause that says if you're being tried as an adult, you're old enough to be killed."

"Alex, that's not what you're asking for, is it?"

The ADA glared. "Of course not. I'll recommend leniency when it comes to sentencing, but I'd much rather not take the chance. Judge Lawrence is notoriously hard on repeat violent offenders."

"So really, if Solomon had Landry's best interests at heart, he'd cut a deal with you."

"Yes. If he's willing to give up Castille, we'd even give him man one instead of murder two. Why is he protecting him?"

"Come on, Alex, you've never heard of a victim getting attached to his abuser? Maybe Remy Castille is the only source of affection Landry's ever known."

"I just don't get it, Olivia. You're the expert on victims. Usually I get to help make sure the perp gets what he deserves. This time it's just not so black-and-white."

"It seldom is," Olivia observed glumly.

"No. I don't want this kid to go to the gas chamber. Maybe Solomon will be ready to deal once we hear the verdict from Mississippi."

*********************************  
 **Highway 55, Mississippi**

Jean pressed the seek button on the Jeep's consul, looking for a news station.  
Country—country—rock—country--there. She turned up the volume. 

"--the scene this morning. Benjamin Landry was convicted in absentia today at the Mississippi State Courthouse. Landry was accused of using his so-called 'mutant abilities' to damage the car in which Hancock county residents Jared and Ellen Davidson were riding, sending the vehicle crashing off an overpass and killing the couple. 

"In a controversial move, the prosecution filed a successful motion to suppress the fact of Landry's mutantcy, thereby preventing jurors, the press and the public from knowing the nature and extent of Landry's so-called 'mutant abilities.' District Attorney Zachariah Beaumont claimed that his team was following the lead of prosecutors in a similar New York case, who filed the motion to prevent accusations of discrimination against the defendant based on his mutantcy. 

"Landry could not be present at his trial here in Mississippi because he is facing murder charges in New York state, where he is being held without bail. He had declined his right to participate in this trial. Landry will be transferred to the Oswald State Penitentiary in New York, where he will remain pending the outcome of his trial in that state. 

"This case has stirred up discussion about the future of mutants in our state's criminal justice system. We go now to reporter Lance-"

Scott switched off the radio, seething. "That's four precedents," he growled, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the Jeep's steering wheel.

"Yeah. Four states in which I'm a deadly weapon," offered Logan from the back seat. "Thought they'd never catch on."

"It's not funny," Jean said. She turned around to meet Logan's eyes. "Now a mutant can be accused of 'criminal possession of a deadly weapon' for simply existing. And any mutant who gets charged with any kind of violent crime will probably face 'assault with a deadly weapon' charges, even if they didn't use their powers. That's more jail time, even increased possibility of the death penalty in some states." 

"But this guy did, right? Use his powers to commit a crime?" Logan asked.

"Maybe. He didn't even get a chance to explain about his mutant powers, since that aspect of the case was barred from courtroom discussion," Jean said. "So basically, the prosecutors didn't have to prove that he used his powers; all they had to do was suggest it, then object whenever the defense mentioned it."

"At least the New York prosecutor hasn't done the same thing," said Scott. "We can only hope that the second trail will be fairer."

"Yeah. I'm not really in the mood for another farce," growled Logan. Nodding in agreement, Scott pushed the accelerator, sending the Jeep speeding north across the Mississippi line. 

**********************************  
 **Oswald State Penitentiary, New York**

McManus flopped down in a chair in Warden Glynn's office, and glared at the man behind the desk. "May I ask why you feel the need to put every celebrity, problem child, and 'special case' in Em City? They're supposed to be a group of normal prisoners, not, well, not this!"

Leo Glynn raised an eyebrow. "So you want me to put a fourteen-year-old in  
GenPop?"

"Of course not!" McManus shouted, sitting up. 

Glynn shrugged. "Then what, Tim?"

McManus backed down, somewhat at a loss. "I don't know. I can't guarantee he'll be any safer in Em City."

"Well, you've already got one mutant. Maybe they'll help each other," Glynn suggested, the hint of a smile in his brown eyes.

"Well, there's that. Or maybe they'll team up and murder all my COs."

Now Glynn leaned forward in concern. "I thought you said Finnessey wasn't dangerous."

"I said he didn't seem dangerous. That's different. Nowhere in his record does it say what his abilities are. He could be very dangerous, and just biding his time. I have no idea," said McManus, slouching again.

"How does he do on work detail?"

"Work detail? Fine. More than fine. Gloria says that if I move him, she'll quit. So I guess he's making himself useful."

"I guess his being a mutant doesn't interfere with his being a doctor."

"No, but being a doctor also doesn't make him a good guy, Leo. Remember  
 _The Fugitive?_ "

"Tim, that doctor was innocent."  
"Yeah, well, still."

"So you'll take Benjamin Landry, then?"

"I guess so. I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"No. No you don't."

**********************************

 **Oz: Infirmary**

"One-twenty over eighty." Abel Finnessey pulled the blood pressure cuff off  
Kareem Said's arm and marked something on the chart in his other hand. "Any feelings of light-headedness, nausea, or chest pains?" Said shook his head, and Finnessey made another mark. "Still taking your meds?" Said nodded. Finnessey looked him in the eyes. 

"Really?"

"Yes, really," replied the Muslim leader. Finnessey marked the chart.

"Okay, then. You're done. Officer?" A blue-uniformed CO stepped forward to lead Said back to Em City. Dr. Gloria Nathan came out of her office, taking stock of the ebb and flow of patients through her sick ward. Seeing Finnessey, she moved to intercept him. He handed her the chart.

"How's Said?" she asked as she glanced over the paper and initialed at the bottom.

"Stable. The Zoltanolin seems to be working. I gave Rebadow his insulin, Guerra got twenty milligrams of Acetaminophen for a fever, I think it's going around, Pascow came in with it earlier, and they have work detail together, and O'Reilly- Ryan- came in while you were with the Warden. Sprained ankle. I gave him an ice pack and told him you'd be busy for a while. He's gone," said Finnessey with his characteristic efficiency. He took the chart back from Gloria and set it in a pile for filing.

"Thanks, Abel. Are you done for today?" Gloria asked. 

"Almost. They just brought in Robson with some kind of a genital rash. Probably an STD. I was going to take care of that and then be done," he said. Then, smiling, "Unless you want to."

Gloria smiled back. "No, you can handle the Nazi venereal disease, I think. I'll do the paperwork. See you tomorrow, then." She watched the tall doctor disappear behind a curtain. Sometimes it was so easy to forget he was a prisoner. He'd made her job much less stressful since he'd been assigned to work detail in the infirmary. He seemed just like another colleague. Finnessey was more than capable, he was good. Gloria had gathered from gossip that on the outside he'd been some hot-shot research doctor in the new and controversial "mutant medicine" field. With him around, her job seemed almost easy. 

_Almost._ She sighed at that thought, and took the pile of papers needing filing, Said's included, into her office. Tim McManus was sitting in front of her desk, reading some file of his own. _Oh McManus._ Gloria set the files on top of a cabinet, knowing they would have to wait. When did Tim McManus ever come with good news?

"Hey Tim," she said, sliding into her chair behind the desk. "What's going on?"

The assistant warden looked up from his file. "Well, nothing too special. Just a new inmate. Kind of a special case. I thought you might want a heads up." 

_I thought you might want an excuse to talk to me,_ Gloria thought, but she said, "Well, then. What's so special?"

Tim gave her his almost-smile in appreciation of her directness. He held up the file in his hand. "Another mutant. Benjamin Landry. Seen him in the news?" 

Gloria shrugged. "No. I don't really follow the show trials."

Tim winced, almost imperceptibly. Gloria's big heart, and probably her own experiences as a Latina working in a prison, had made her sympathetic to all kinds of civil rights causes, most recently, mutants. True, there had been many mutant trials in the news recently due to a new state law that included mutant powers in the category of "deadly weapon." Still, it wasn't as if the state were on a mutant witch-hunt. They were just adapting laws to deal with a changing society. In any case, McManus could see that Gloria wasn't exactly thrilled with the new surge of anti-mutant public opinion. He gritted his teeth before formulating a reply. "Mutant or not, Gloria, Benjamin Landry's a murderer. He's been convicted in Mississippi, and they say that his trial here is practically a foregone conclusion-"

"Big surprise," Gloria interjected.

McManus soldiered on. "And so he's going to be starting his sentence at Oz. If New York convicts, he'll stay here. If not, he'll go back to Mississippi."

"All right," said Gloria. "So aside from the fact that he's a mutant, is he anything special? Anything I need to worry about as a doctor?"

Reminded that he had indeed come here claiming special circumstances, he struggled to bring the conversation back around to his point. "Not as such. I just... Well, I want an extra pair of eyes looking out for him. If you don't mind."

"Is he dangerous? Is that what you're saying?" she bristled.

"No, nothing like that," McManus said. "Gloria, he's fourteen years old."

******************

 **Oz: Processing Room**

"Those of you going to Emerald City, listen up. In Emerald City we got rules, got a lot more rules than anywhere else in Oz. Your cell is your home, keep it clean, spotless. You are to exercise regularly, attend classes and go to drug and alcohol counseling. You are to do your work assignment. You are to follow the routine. We tell you when to sleep, when to eat, when to piss. There is no yelling, no fighting, no fucking. Follow the rules, and we'll get along. Questions? These are your sponsors. They'll help you get adjusted to life in Oz. Alan Jameson, Augustus Hill. Kevin Irey, Agamemnon Busmalis. Benjamin Landry, Vernon Schillin-jer."

"That's Schillin-ger, lady. Shill-in-ger, okay?"

The CO rolled her eyes. "Grab your stuff, let's go," she ordered the new inmates. 

Vernon Schillinger turned to his new charge. As Hill and Busmalis filed out with their new friends, that only left... _Well I'll be damned,_ Vern thought, looking at the man- no, the boy- sitting on the bench, big brown eyes fixed on him expectantly. The kid rose, clutching his pile of sheets and TP; he only came up to Schillinger's nose. _Now isn't that cute._ The boy's hair was brown and curly, and as he smiled shyly, one side of his face dimpled. Schillinger felt a stirring just below his belly.

"I'm Benjamin Landry," said the kid. His voice was unexpected: soft and a little husky, with a gentle Southern accent. Yes, that definitely produced a stir. "You mus' be Mister Schillinger." 

Kid's a quick learner. Even Robson can't get my fucking name right. Schillinger spared the kid a friendly smile. "That's me. Come on, we'll get you set up." The two strode along the corridor behind the other four cons, and got buzzed into Em City. 

Schillinger watched his sponser-ee gape at the wonderland of glass and metal as he steered him up the stairs. _McManus must hate this kid. Either that or not know whose turn it is to sponsor,_ Schillinger reflected as he ushered his new catch into their pod. "Home sweet home."

Landry took in the sparse cell at a glance, and set his pile on the bunk. "Guess I'm on the bottom," he said in that fine voice. 

"Guess so." Schillinger allowed himself a grin. He moved in closer to the boy. "So, Ben, got any tattoos?"

"You Benjamin Landry?"

_Damnit._ Schillinger jerked his head around to see Officer Sean Murphy standing at the door of the pod. Just when we were getting started. 

"Yes, sir, I'm Landry."

"McManus wants to see you." Murphy held the door open and looked expectantly at Landry. Landry looked confused. "The assistant warden, kid. Come on." With only a quick, tense glance at Schillinger, Em City's newest resident slunk out into the quad under Murphy's watchful eye.  
*********

**SVU Squad Room, New York City**

"What do you mean he's already in Oswald?" Olivia Benson hissed. Her partner, Elliot Stabler, watched cautiously from his desk, ready to intervene in the event of a meltdown.

"Solomon says Landry won't be testifying anymore. Not at his own trial, and not at Castille's," Alex Cabbot explained. She was at least as mad as Benson, Stabler observed, but hers was a cooler anger, having simmered over hours. She was not, he decided, any less likely to melt down.

"Then we don't have a case against Castille. None. The creep won't talk to us without his lawyer, he won't admit anything, one witness is dead, the other witness is refusing to testify, there's no physical evidence," raved Benson. "Could this case possibly be any worse?"

"How about that the victim of this creep is locked up on charges that are exaggerated at best, possible unconstitutional, at a maximum security state penitentiary where he will likely be subjected to the same brutality and abuse perpetrated on him by a privileged white man we can't put away?" Munch offered.

Two angry glares pierced him from across the room. "Thank you, John, that's just what the conversation needed," Stabler muttered. He stood and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. "Come on, Olivia. Let's take a drive."

"Where?" asked his partner, raising an eyebrow.

"To Oswald. Maybe once he's seen the place, he'll be more willing to talk."

***************

**Oz: Emerald City**

McManus was digging inside a desk drawer when Sean Murphy knocked on his office door. "Yeah," he called absently. "Come on in." Murphy closed the door gently behind him, and moved to stand in front of his boss's desk. 

"Tim, this is crazy," he began. 

Tim McManus popped up from behind the desk, earnest face marred by a deeply furrowed brow. "Huh? What's crazy?"

Murphy sat down on the edge of a chair. "This kid. Landry. Have you seen him? Do you know whose pod he's in?"

McManus frowned. "Do you think I made a mistake?"

"You mean you put him with Vern Schillinger on purpose?"

"Yes. I don't think Schillinger will hurt him. Really."

Murphy shook his head skeptically. "The fucking Nazi killed his own son, Tim. Why wouldn't he hurt this kid?"

McManus smiled. "Well, I'll be watching them very closely, and everyone else will too. There's such a thing as statutory rape, you know. If Vern Schillinger touches that boy, there's no shortage of people that will narc on him."

Still uncomfortable, Murphy shrugged. "That's as good a plan as any, I suppose. Don't know who else you could put him with. Beecher, maybe."

"And separate Beecher from Keller again?" McManus laughed without mirth. "No, thank you. Not that Beecher is a very stable or calming influence anyway."

"What about the other mutant? Finnessey?"

"If they want to get together and have mutant pride parades in their free time, that's fine with me. But we've just gotten Finnessey stable. He's working, he's doing okay, he's a great help to Doctor Nathan. I don't want to upset that balance. And I don't really want them encouraging each other."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you or any of the other COs want to try your batons against mutant powers?"

Murphy paled. "No, Tim. Not at all."

"Then Schillinger it is, I suppose."

"I suppose," agreed Murphy, rising. "I'll send in Landry."

************

 **Oz: Warden's Office**

"Warden? There's a Dr. Grey with the Mutant Rights Defense League here to see you," Floria's voice came over the intercom.

Leo Glynn looked at his watch. 4:20. Just what he needed at the end of the day. An unexpected guest. An unexpected, political guest. But if he saw this doctor now, he could claim to have another appointment before the end of the day. _And besides,_ Glynn thought. _If I deal with him now, maybe this Mutant Rights guy won't come back._ He pushed the talkback button. "Send him in, Floria."

"Yes sir," replied his secretary; did she sound amused?

Glynn settled himself back in his chair, ready for some verbal sparring. The door to his office opened, admitting his guest. _Oh,_ was all Glynn could think. Tall, red-headed, long-legged guest. _Who says mutants are all bad?_

"I'm Dr. Jean Grey," said the guest, extending a hand, which Glynn shook automatically. "Sorry to show up without an appointment. But I just got in from Mississippi, and it's urgent that I speak with you."

"Yes. I'm Warden Glynn. Leo Glynn," he managed. _Business,_ he reminded himself. _This is prison business. Get it together._ "So, how may I help you, Doctor?"

"Well, I was hoping that I could help you." Her smile was really quite dazzling. "Did you know that you're one of only three state penitentiaries nationwide that house identified mutants who have been convicted of a violent crime?"

_No, I didn't know that. How did she?_ "We have two, in fact."

"Yes, I know. Benjamin Landry and Abel Finnessey."

She's done her research. Glynn was impressed, despite himself. It was never good when the political element had too many facts. It meant they were preparing to make a point. "That's correct."

"You're the only institution that doesn't use the so-called 'Smart Collar' to suppress mutant's natural abilities."

Glynn frowned at the memories. "No. That device didn't work with our program."

Dr. Grey gifted him with a brilliant smile. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that, Warden. I think that any correctional facility that wishes its prisoners to have some chance at rehabilitation would necessarily rule out the use of a punishment which renders a person helpless and catatonic. Don't you?"

Glynn blinked twice, then nodded. "It did have very... destructive effects on the inmate we used it on." Was it his imagination, or did this woman look a little more alert, as if listening for something very quiet.

"So you discontinued use of the Smart Collar because of the adverse effects on the health of an inmate?"

"Yes," Glynn replied slowly, trying to sense if he was walking into a trap.

"Interesting," Dr. Grey mused before switching gears. "So how do you deal with your mutant inmates now that you've discarded the Smart Collar?"

"Well, our SORT team carries an experimental device," began Glynn, glad to be moving on from the reminder of an unpleasant failure. "Like a mutant scanner, it's able to detect the different brainwave patterns of mutants and disrupt them."

The doctor was frowning again. "So you could debilitate all the mutants within range of this weapon."

"That's the idea. If a SORT team couldn't take out a mutant by normal means, because of interference from a mutant's abilities that is, this device serves as a backup means of control, not to mention a guard on the safety of my correctional officers."

"Interesting," she said again. "I came here to propose a deal."

_Where to now?_ worried Glynn. With this doctor switching from point to point, it was difficult to see her goal, and that bothered the warden. "What kind of deal did you have in mind?"

Dr. Grey sat up a little straighter, ready to do business. "I can arrange for teachers from the Xavier school to provide counseling and training for your mutant inmates to help them control their powers."

Glynn sat back in his chair--when had he leaned forward?- and frowned. "I'm not sure that would be a good thing, Doctor. Isn't that as good as giving them a weapon?"

"Not at all, Warden. It's like sex education," she began as if she'd given this speech before, which Glynn imagined she had. "If you teach only abstinence, you leave people open to make mistakes when they inevitably give in to sex drive. If you also teach safe sex, then when the inevitable occurs, nobody gets hurt. You see, most mutant-ability-related violence occurs because the mutant isn't trained and doesn't know how to control his or her abilities. The abilities can manifest with anger or fear whether the mutant wants them to or not. With training, a mutant can learn to separate their abilities from emotion, so that accidents are less likely to occur. Does that make sense?" Glynn nodded, beginning to understand. "So training your mutant inmates and offering them counseling in dealing with their abilities would make them less dangerous, and help them prepare to re-enter society," Dr. Grey concluded easily. Glynn had to admire her polish.

"If we did allow this training, what would you ask for in return?"

"Simple." Dr. Grey leaned forward, sensing a deal was near, ready to close it. "I would like to talk to some inmates and staff about their experiences with the Smart Collar. The Mutant Rights Defense League is putting together a law-suit against the company that makes them. They're inhumane; I know you've seen that."

Glynn thought for a moment, but he knew he'd made his decision. Now he only had to figure out how to explain it to his superiors, and the rest of his staff. "All right, Dr. Grey. Let's work out the details."


	2. Chapter 2

**Oz: Em City**

Benjamin Landry walked through Em City, followed by the eyes of dozens of men already locked in their pods for the evening. He kept his eyes trained on the floor as he mounted the stairs to the second level. In the pod they shared, Vern Schillinger was sitting on Landry's bunk. Landry leaned against the glass wall closest to the door. Not looking up from his book, Schillinger asked, "So what did you and Timmy talk about?"

"He warned me about you," Landry said evenly. 

_Nothing he says in that voice is irritating,_ Schillinger mused, and set down his book. "What about me?"

"He said that you raped and tortured another inmate, um... Beachum?"

"Beecher. Yeah. I did that," he said nonchalantly. Schillinger watched the boy  
carefully for his reaction. It was slight; a relaxing of tension in the shoulders, a slightly  
raised eyebrow.

"Alright." Landry moved quickly, sitting on the bed next to his pod mate. Close, but not too close. 

Schillinger spared a glance for the world outside the pod. Ryan O'Reilly was pressed up against the door of his pod, staring. He wasn't the only one. _Shit. Nosy motherfuckers._ "Alright what?"

Landry almost-smiled, and gazed up at Schillinger from under his big eyelashes. "Mr. Schillinger, I'm not a faggot. I'm young, I know that. But I also know a little bit about the way the world works." 

Throughout Em City, the lights went out with a series of muted booms, and Landry was suddenly silhouetted with soft blue light. Almost casually, and oh-so-slowly, he slid to his knees on the floor. "Mr. Schillinger, I'm all alone here. But I would very much like your friendship."

Schillinger's brain was turning to water. _This can not be happening. No way God loves me this much._ Landry put his hands on Schillinger's legs, leaning in close to his crotch, stopping just before making contact and looking up at the older man with a shy grin and a slightly cocked head. Both hands at once went for Schillinger's pants, undoing the button, pulling down the zipper, pulling fabric out of the way. Schillinger inhaled sharply as Landry gently lifted his cock into the coolish, recycled air of the pod.

In the sudden silence, Landry lifted his eyes once more to Schillinger's. "Please sir, may I suck your cock?" 

Perversely, it was these unexpected words that helped the reeling Aryan regain control. He knew those words; they'd been said to him before, but never like this, never in that voice. "Yes, Benjamin, you may." His voice sounded different to him, not as strong as he'd have liked, but Schillinger was proud that he'd managed a response at all, under the circumstances. 

His eyes still locked on Schillinger's, Landry gently, slowly fitted his mouth over the head of Schillinger's cock, expertly moving his lips to cover his teeth. His tongue flicked gently at the tip, then he breathed out, a quick puff of air that dissolved Schillinger's ability to think and made the hair stand up on his neck. Oh, he knew tonight would be special, but he hadn't expected Landry to do—ah--that. He felt light-headed.  
Unsurprising, he reflected, since all the blood seemed to be rushing to his groin.

Landry's hands were back on Schillinger's thighs; his fingers dug into flesh as he leaned forward, taking more of his pod-mate's throbbing length into his throat. Three, then four, then five long back and forth bobs of Landry's head, and Schillinger's cock was buried balls-deep in that warm, wet mouth. Staring down at that beautiful sight, Schillinger was gratified to see a pair of sparkling brown eyes gleaming up at him.

 _Beecher could never look at me. Like he was ashamed. That prag was nothing like this...._ Schillinger smiled as he felt Landry pull back, running his talented tongue against the underside of his new friend's now-hard rod. The Cajun gave the tool several more enthusiastic licks before leaning back to strip off his shirt. 

Eyes never leaving Schillinger's, Landry stood gracefully and let his pants drop to the floor, followed by his boxers. Then he knelt on the floor, a few feet away from the bunk. "Sir, I hope we can be friends."

The predator, the urge for dominance uncoiled in Schillinger's belly. "Come here, Benjamin," he said, patting the bunk beside him. With liquid grace, Landry moved, kneeling on the bed facing the larger man. Schillinger stood. "If you want to be my _friend_ ," Schillinger said, drawling his last word, "you'll do what I say, when I say, without question."

"Yes sir," said Landry, without moving.

"You will show respect to me and to the other members of the Brotherhood at all times."

"Yes sir."

"You won't fuck anyone except me without specific orders."

"Yes sir."

"You will stay off of drugs and away from spics and niggers."

"Yes sir."

"You will not talk about our _friendship_ to anyone."

"Yes sir."

"And you will turn around right now and spread your legs." Landry moved, planting his chest against the mattress and spreading his knees, leaving his ass up in the air, a beautiful invitation. Schillinger could hear his haggard breathing. _Well, for all his pro façade he's just as scared as little Beecher._ The thought made Schillinger smile and, if possible, made him harder. He spit on his fingers, rubbing his thumb against his index and middle finger to moisten them. Then he grabbed Landry's waist with one hand, and with the other, eased a finger into the smaller man's tight hole. Landry knew how to relax to make the passage easier. Not a virgin, then. _Well, nobody who sucks cock like that could be a virgin._

Once he'd added a second finger with no trouble, Schillinger was done waiting. _It's not as if a little_ discomfort _will spoil the fun._ Stripping off his own pants with a practiced motion, Schillinger knelt behind his prey, and positioned his weeping cock at the entrance he'd prepared. Resting it against the ass in front of him, he waited. "Don't you have something to say, Benjamin?"

Landry craned his neck around to make eye contact with Schillinger. His voice was husky from hard breathing and emotion--fear, maybe? "Please, sir, please fuck my ass," he gasped out. 

"All right, Benny. You've been so good, I think I will." Schillinger clamped his hands onto Landry's waist as he slowly thrust his hips forward, bearing down relentlessly. He heard Landry hiss, a sharp intake of breath, then watched him go slack. Schillinger thrust forward hard, once, and he was in all the way. He held still, breathing in, out, in, while he willed himself to wait, to make it last. 

When he was as under control as he was going to get, he dug his fingers into Landry's waist and began to thrust. Each push elicited a pant, almost a grunt, from the man under him, and Schillinger began to thrust harder, searching for other sounds, new sensations. Landry began to meet his thrust, pushing back against him in perfect rhythm as his grunts became incoherent gasping, punctuated with near-shouts when Schillinger adjusted his angle. He reached a hand around to wrap over Landry's mouth. _The last thing I need is the hacks breaking us up just yet._

Landry tensed as Schillinger's hand stifled him, and the muscles clenching around his member proved too much of a good thing. With one last thrust, Schillinger came inside Landry's warm and welcoming body. For a moment, he rested, leaning against Landry's sweaty back, getting his breath back. Then he shifted, taking his hand away from his pod-mate's mouth. 

Schillinger lowered himself to the mattress, lying on his side and propping his head up with one hand as he pulled Landry against the length of his body. The younger man curled up against the Aryan, nuzzling his curly head into Schillinger's chest. For some reason, Schillinger found it endearing, sexy even. No prag had ever wanted him this much; no prag had ever sought him out. Tobias Bitch-er had had his charms, but this one, this one had something much more exciting: youth.  
*********

**Oz: Em City**

Keller watched his lover pace the length of the cell restlessly. It was a turnabout of sorts; usually Keller was the one impatient, hungry for action, and Tobias was counseling patience and restraint. Not tonight. 

"I can't believe McManus!" Beecher fumed. "After all that Schillinger has done, to give him that- that _child_ as a podmate. He'll eat him alive!" He stopped in front of the bunk, looking down expectantly at Keller.

"Maybe the kid's tougher than he looks. They say he's a mutant."

Beecher resumed his pacing. "Mutant or not, McManus is a fool to think Schillinger can keep his hands off of that. Poor kid must be terrified."

"I'm just glad it's not you, Toby."

Beecher whirled around to face his lover, wild-eyed. "Fuck that. It could have been, don't you get that?! Nobody did anything when it was me. Nobody fucking did a fucking thing. And now it's fucking happening all over again!" Beecher retreated to the back wall of the cell, pressing himself against its coldness, shoulders heaving.

Keller got out of bed and went to embrace his partner. "It's all right, Toby. It's all right. What do you want to do? I'll help you. We'll make it all right. Shhh. Shhhh."  
***********

 **SVU Squad Room: New York City**

Detective Olivia Benson sat at the room's only table, impatiently tapping her pen against her papers in a nervous cadence. Her partner was gazing out the barred window, brooding. "Why has this one gotten under your skin, Olivia?" Stabler asked finally. He turned away from the window. "Fin and Munch did all they could on this case, you know."

"I know that," Benson sighed. "But I want to get through to him. Have you seen the trial transcripts? From here, not Mississippi."

Stabler shrugged. "No. We can't keep that close of tabs on all our cases."

"Well, this one's special," she insisted. "The kid refuses to admit he's been abused. He agrees that he was having sex with a 50-something man and his teenage son, but won't say that it was wrong for them to take advantage of him. If I could only make him see-."

"See what?" Stabler interrupted, and moved to sit next to his partner. "That the only people he's had any kind of a long-term relationship with were just using him? That what he thinks was love was only manipulation?"

"So you have been following the trial."

"Maybe," he admitted, grudgingly. "But think about the 'why,' here, Olivia. This kid is holding onto his world-view by a thread, and I'm not sure if it's worth destroying that, even if it would put his abuser in jail."

Benson shook her head. "Then what? How does he live the rest of his life?"

Stabler snorted, moving back to the window. "He doesn't have a rest of his life. If he gets convicted here, he won't be up for parole until he's 96."

Benson opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. One of Oswald's COs stuck his head in. "Detectives? We've brought Landry."

"Bring him in, please," said Stabler, settling his face in interrogation mode with practiced ease. 

After a moment's delay, the CO led in Landry. Stabler thought he would have recognized him anywhere, but, well, this was a different Landry. Munch and Fin had done this kid's initial interview, but Benson and Stabler, professional interest piqued, had wandered into the observation room to watch the cheeky Cajun square off against their colleagues. 

 

_  
"Tell us about Tuesday night," Munch instructed calmly._

_Landry smiled, his face a beacon of Southern charm. "I stayed in."_

_"Can anyone confirm that?" Fin demanded._

_"Henri Castille could have," Landry said._

_"So you were with Henri Castille on Tuesday night?" Munch asked._

_Landry shrugged. "For a while, at least. He wanted me to go out with him, and I wouldn't. So he left."_

_"What time was that?" Munch made a note on his pad._

_"'Eleven, maybe."_

_"What did you do after he left?" Fin asked, leaning on the table._

_Landry turned a sly smile on him. "Pouted."_

_"So what time did Castille return?" Munch asked quickly._

_"Henri got back... um... 'round three, maybe."_

_"Did he say where he'd been?" Fin wanted to know._

_"Yeah, he told me..."_

_"Told you what?" Fin pressed._

_"Told me where he'd been and what he'd done."_

_"Which was?"_

_"Bad. It was bad," Landry said calmly. "So I killed him." A moment of silence followed that statement. Munch glanced at the mirrored glass, with a "do you guys believe this shit?" look._

_"How'd you kill him?" Fin managed to ask._

_"Burned him."_

_"How?"_

_"Dunno."_

_"You don't know?" Munch said incredulously. Landry said nothing, just shrugged unapologetically._

_"So, was there a fight?" Fin demanded._

_"Not really."_

_Munch carefully phrased his next question: "Did you plan to kill Henri Castille before it happened?"_

_Landry didn't even blink. "Yeah. I told him if he did what he was going to do when he went out, I'd kill him. And he told me he was going to, so I knew I had to kill him when he got back."_

_"Malice aforethought," was all Fin had to say._

_Munch spared his audience another disbelieving look. "All right kid," he said. "I think we'd better take a formal statement."  
_

 

Landry's eyes were pointed resolutely downward as he slunk into the room, hands cuffed in front of him. The CO pushed him toward the chair across the table from the two detectives. "You want me in or out?" he asked.

"Out, please," said Benson, her eyes still on the inmate, who winced as he made contact with the chair. The CO shrugged and left, shutting the door behind him. Stabler hit the record button on the tape recorder, then leaned against the wall and let Benson begin. "How are you, Landry?"

"Fine, ma'am," he said flatly, eyes on the floor.

"Do you remember us? I'm Detective Benson, and this is Detective Stabler. We're with the NYPD Special Victims Unit." To this, Landry only shrugged.

"We're here to ask you about a case we're working on," Stabler jumped in. "I believe you know Remy Castille?"

Landry's eyes flickered to Stabler's face for a second before returning to the floor. "Yes, sir."

Olivia leaned forward across the table. "Listen very carefully, Benjamin. If you help us, we may be able to help you. Your trial here in New York is still going on. If you cooperate with us, the state may reduce the charges against you. That means less time here in Oswald. Has your lawyer explained this?"

Landry shrugged again, still expressionless. 

"You don't want to stay here longer than you have to, do you?" Stabler asked. Another shrug.

"Benjamin, I need you to tell us specifically what you did with Remy Castille," Benson prompted. "To indict Castille, we need to know the nature and extent of the-." _Don't say 'abuse', Olivia._ "Of your relationship. I'm going to ask you some questions, and all you have to do is answer, all right? You're not going to get in trouble, okay?" No response. Benson took a deep breath and looked at Stabler, who gave an ironic shrug. She launched ahead. "Benjamin, you began a sexual relationship with Remy Castille in the summer of 2003, correct?"

"Yes ma'am."

"At that time, what kind of sexual contact did you have with Mr. Castille?"

Landry seemed at a loss. Stabler jumped in. "Did he touch your genitals?" After interpreting that for a moment, Landry nodded slowly. "Did you touch his genitals?" Another nod. "Did you ever perform oral sex on Remy Castille?" No response. 

"Blow jobs," Benson supplied, and was rewarded with a halting nod. "When did that start?"

"Um... the fall?" Landry ventured.

"The fall of 2003?" 

"Yes ma'am."

"Did Remy Castille perform oral sex on you?" Stabler asked. Landry shook his head. "What about intercourse?"

"Did Remy Castille penetrate you?" Benson specified. Landry nodded. She could see his shoulders tensing, his bowed head sinking ever lower toward his chest. _Bad memories, kid? If it was so bad, why won't you admit that you were abused?_  
Benjamin, when did that first happen?"

"June 24th, 2004."

"You remember the date?" asked Stabler, a note of skepticism in his voice.

Landry nodded, his breathing quickening. "It was... it was my birthday, sir." 

Benson felt her heart take a dive for her shoes. She did some quick math. _Thirteen. His thirteenth birthday. Congratulations, Ben, you can no longer order off the kids menu, and let me rape you._ Stabler watched his partner pale, and put a hand on her shoulder. She shook him off. _If this kid could live it, I can certainly stand to hear about it,_ she told herself firmly.

Landry looked very small, slouched in his chair, cuffed hands clutching his knees, curly head bowed low. Benson suddenly thought, _I don't want to be the cause of that._ "Eliot, I think we've got what we need for now, don't you?" she said, rising abruptly. 

With only a slightly raised eyebrow, her partner nodded. "Sure. Officer?" The CO returned quickly; he must have been just outside the door. "We're done here."

"Come on, kid." The CO grabbed Landry's elbow and hauled him to his feet. Before they could leave, Benson strode over to the cuffed inmate and put a hand on his shoulder. 

"Thank you for your help, Benjamin. We'll talk to the Assistant DA and see what we can do."

Landry spared her a look, possibly of gratitude, but the CO was steering him out the door. Benson watched them go with mixed feelings. _At least we have something to bring back to Alex._

***********

**Oz: Em City**

 

"Where've you been?" Schillinger demanded the moment his new prag stepped into the pod. 

"Cops, sir. They wanted to talk to me about a case. Some guy I knew on the outside," Landry said offhandedly. He stretched out like a cat on the bottom bunk where Schillinger sat, placing his head in the older man's lap. He ran a hand gently up and down the leg he was resting on. "So what happens now?"

"Well," Schillinger said, leaning back against the wall. "Work detail soon. Hacks'll tell you what your assignment is. Then dinner. You come find me when you've got your food, okay?"

"Okay, sir." Landry snuggled his head into Schillinger's groin, applying just enough pressure for the man to feel a pleasant squeeze. Then Landry sat up, abruptly. "Work detail? You mean I won't be with you."

Schillinger smiled at the kid's distress. "Nope. Sorry sugar. I've got a primo work assignment that took me no small amount of effort to land. But don't worry. You'll be fine." He cocked his head to the side, considering. "You know, we really should mark you. So there's not doubt you belong to the Brotherhood."

Landry gave his pod-mate a sly smile, and Schillinger could almost hear the wheels turning as a hack called out "Work! Let's go, ladies!"

Murphy caught Landry by the arm as he exited the pod with Schillinger. "Hey, new kid. You don't have work detail today. You've got some kind of special class." Schillinger raised an eyebrow as, for the second time, he watched Murphy drag away his reluctant prag.  
*************

 **Oz: Library**

"Aren't I a bit old for classes, Warden Glynn?" Finnessey asked.

Glynn just smiled. "Think of it as continuing education. Part of your rehabilitation as a productive member of society." Finnessey smiled back, but skeptically.

"Here you go," said Murphy, as he deposited Landry in a vacant chair at the library table and took up a position by the door. Finnessey evaluated the new inmate seated across from him; young, younger than he'd expected, and sullen-looking, in an endearing kind of way. He had the kind of innocent face and unspoiled beauty that would probably cause fights in Oz. 

"Great," said Glynn. "Thank you, Sean. Abel Finnessey, this is Benjamin Landry, Benjamin Landry, Abel Finnessey."

"How d'y'do," Landry muttered. 

_Southern?_ thought Finnessey. _Oh, real cute._ "Nice to meet you." He turned back to Glynn. "Warden, what kind of a class is it that the two of us--. Oh."

 _Guess that Harvard education isn't going to waste after all._ Glynn kept up his patient smile. "Yes. Our two resident mutants." Landry's eyes got wider, and Finnessey's brow furrowed with interest. "We thought that it would be... productive for you to receive counseling about your abilities, to learn how to control them."

"That's magnanimous of you, Warden Glynn," Finnessey said, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. Glynn couldn't blame him, after his own previous failures to deal with Finnessey's mutancy. Hopefully this attempt would not be such a fiasco. "Well, you aren't our instructor, I assume."

Glynn shook his head quickly. "Of course not. There's someone coming from the Xavier Institute." From Finnessey, an impressed nod; from Landry, only a blank, questioning stare. 

Taking in his fellow inmate's confusion, Finnessey offered, "It's a mutant school. The oldest and the best. So why are they interested in us?" He turned back to Glynn for an answer.

"We have an arrangement," was all Glynn said. Before Finnessey could pry more out of him, there was a crackle from Murphy's radio.

"Sir, the Xavier rep is here," Sean told the warden. "Shall I have them bring him in?"

"Yes, of course," said Glynn, standing in preparation for the meeting. Though his conversation with Dr. Grey had been somewhat... unsettling... he felt that with the past days' preparations, he should be ready to greet whatever representative they sent. 

The door to the library opened, and a bald man in a wheelchair rolled in, followed by a surly Officer Howell. "Hello. I'm Charles Xavier. You must Warden Glynn. How do you do?" 

Glynn extended his hand down to the wheelchair-bound man for a handshake. Charles Xavier. Xavier. The founder and dean of the Xavier Institute. A lighting rod for the mutant rights movement. Here. _For my inmates. Wonderful. How am I going to explain this to the governor?_ "Well, thank you. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. When Dr. Grey said that she'd send a representative, I had no idea--"

Xavier cut him off genially, "Oh, don't worry. I'm no different than any other teacher at the Institute. And we've agreed to take turns, you see, at these sessions, until we know the nature of your inmates' abilities. Ah, this must be-"

"I'm Abel Finnessey," Finnessey said, rising and moving around the table to proffer his hand. Howell tensed and moved to step between them, but Murphy grabbed her shoulder to hold her back. She glared at the Irishman, but stopped.

"Abel. I knew your wife. I was so sorry to hear about what happened. Lydia was a wonderful woman," Xavier said sadly, taking Finnessey's hand in his.

"Yes. She always spoke highly of you, sir."

Glynn exchanged a surprised look with Murphy, then turned to the other inmate, who had made no move to introduce himself. "And this is Benjamin Landry." Landry peeled his eyes away from his shoes long enough to glance at Xavier and mutter "hi." Murphy rolled his eyes.

"Well, Professor Xavier, shall I leave you to your work?" Glynn asked.

"Yes, thank you Warden."

"Please don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything. I'll be leaving Officer Howell here for your safety-"

"If you don't mind, Warden, may we have Officer Howell stationed outside the door?" Xavier asked calmly.

Taking stock of his two inmates, Glynn shook his head. "Professor, I really think that it would be best-"

"Warden, I assure you," Finnessey broke in. "Professor Xavier is in no danger from us."

The pointedness of Finnessey's last word made Glynn scowl briefly. "All right. Outside then. But she'll be right there if you need her, Professor. Don't hesitate to call." With that, he turned and strode out of the room, followed by Murphy and Howell, who shut the door behind her.

"Well, then, gentlemen," said Xavier, wheeling himself up to the table. "Shall we begin?"  
******************

**Oz: Cafeteria**

 

Ryan O'Reilly grabbed Beecher and pulled him aside as he filed in for dinner. "Okay," said the lanky Irishman. "Here's what I've got so far. The kid's a mutant. Some detectives came to talk to him this morning. Word is that in exchange for reduced charges here in New York, he's rolling on some big shot Southern businessman. A rape charge. And the murder he's being tried for here is a second degree murder charge. The victim is this big shot businessman's son."

"Shit. That fucked up."

"You're telling me. I wonder if Schillinger would be so eager to make him his prag if he knew all this."

"Are you kidding, Ryan? Schillinger would make a dead goat his prag if the goat showed proper respect," Beecher said bitterly. 

"Yeah, well. I'll keep my ears open; let you know what comes up," said O'Reilly, and sauntered back to his place in the serving line.

Keller came up behind Beecher and wrapped his hands around the other man's waist possessively. "What'd the Mick have to say?"

"The kid's got some kind of deal going. Reduced charges if he testifies, blah blah blah. Only the person they want him to testify against is the father of his victim."

"Wow." Chris released Toby before the nearest guard could do more than scowl. "That's... interesting."

"And he's a mutant."

"We already got one of those."

"Always room for one more, I guess."

"They're getting special counseling now, you know," Rebadow chipped in from behind the couple in line. 

"Oh yeah?" asked Beecher.

"Yeah. They both started attending some class with a mutant teacher. To help rehabilitate them and so on," the old man reported.

"Huh," said Keller. "Guess school's out for now." Indeed, Finnessey and Landry had just entered the cafeteria.

"Not a lot of mutant solidarity between those two," observed Beecher. Finnessey got into line behind Augustus Hill and Hill's new sponser-ee, some wise-ass—Jameson--that was his name. Landry casually sidled over to the wall and leaned against it, as if waiting.

"Waiting for his _husband_ ," Keller observed. "Whipped already." 

Beecher frowned. "Oz sucks," he muttered as he reached for a tray. While he followed the line, letting his tray be filled with spoonfuls of unappetizing slop, Beecher watched Landry. The kid kept his head down, only glancing over surreptitiously each time some inmates made an entrance. Looking for the person that mattered to him: Vern Schillinger.

When the figurehead of the Aryan Brotherhood finally did make his appearance, Landry bounded over to him like a lovesick puppy. Schillinger responded by ruffling the youngster's hair. _Act like a dog, get treated like a dog,_ Beecher thought bitterly. _That kid has no idea what shit he's in for._  
*****************

**Oz: Library**

"If we do all of that, the Hegel execution should run like clockwork," concluded Glynn. The faces around the library table were sliding into boredom as the weekly staff meeting dragged on. "In other news-"

Here, McManus bustled through the door, coming to rest in his usual seat with a handful of unorganized papers. "Sorry I'm late." Glynn nodded impatiently, but no one else acknowledged what by now was the time-honored ritual of McManus' tardiness.

"I was just about to brief the staff on the progress we've been making with our mutant inmates, Tim," said Glynn, a bit pointedly. "As I told you all last week, our two resident mutants are now having classes with representatives from the Xavier Institute. Their first few sessions have gone well. Dr. Grey assures me that these classes will help them control their powers, not use them against othersâ€"inmates or COs. But just the same, I'd like all of you to keep a sharp eye on Finnessey and Landry. If you should see anything strange--anything that looks like it might be a manifestation of mutant power, I want you to report it to Tim. He'll deal with it."

_Okay then,_ thought McManus, irritated. _Dump that responsibility on me. Sure, they're in Em City, but they're not my personal, pet mutants._ "Right. I'll deal with it."

Glynn continued. "What I don't want is for those two to get harassed because they're mutants. The Xavier group is more than a school; it's also a mutant rights watchdog group. If they think we're discriminating against mutants, they won't fail to slap the prison with a law suit. Not to mention personal suits against the perpetrators of the discrimination. Everyone clear on that?" Glynn met each pair of eyes around the table in turn. "Good. Let's move on."  
***************

**Oz: Em City**

"He's never alone," Beecher complained. Keller rubbed shampoo out of his face with the back of his hand, patiently enduring his partner's near-whining. "I mean, he follows Schillinger around like a dog. Like a fucking dog! Fuck!"

"Come on, Toby. You've been in Oz how long and you don't know how to arrange some alone-time with someone?" Keller asked, finally. "I'll talk to some people, make it happen, if it's that important."

Beecher turned off his shower and joined Keller under the spray, sliding his hands over smooth, wet, skin. "It is important. Somebody's got to help him. I've got to help him."

"We will help him, Toby," said Keller, and darted in for a kiss. "Together."  
***********************

**Oz: Infirmary**

CO Bradley rapped on the door of Gloria Nathan's office to get her attention. "Dr. Nathan? There's a Dr. Grey here to see you."

Nathan put down the budget report she'd been poring over. "Right. I've been expecting her. Show her in, please, Officer."

Warden Glynn had asked for her cooperation in this investigation the Xavier Institute was doing, and he'd told her what to expect from Dr. Grey. Truth be told, Nathan was glad that someone was dealing with the Smart Collar problem. The warden seemed anxious just to put the whole mess behind him, but it gnawed at Nathan's conscience. _How many mutants are in prisons where the doctors don't care that their patient's neural functions are being impaired or destroyed? How many doctors would trade a mutant inmate's life for their own perceived safety?_ she reflected glumly. _Probably most of them._

A stir of muttering in the infirmary proper alerted Dr. Nathan to Bradley's return with the eminent Dr. Grey. Patients, inmates on bed-pan duty, even the nursing staff and orderlies had stopped to watch the red-haired doctor's gracefully progress into Nathan's office. _No wonder Glynn is cooperating._ Gloria stood up in welcome. "I'm Dr. Gloria Nathan."

"I'm Dr. Jean Grey. It's nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise." Gloria gestured for the other woman to take a seat as she moved to close the blinds on her office windows, thereby shutting out the staring staff and inmates. 

"I suppose that Warden Glynn's told you about our investigation," Grey began. Nathan nodded. "I'd like to hear about your experience with the Smart Collar."

"I'm not sure what you know so far. Our first mutant inmate was Abel Finnessey. When he came here last year, they'd already installed the Collar. Leo--Warden Glynn--alerted me that we were getting a mutant inmate, so I read what I could find on the Collar, which was alarmingly little."

"Did you contact the company that manufactures the Collar?"

"Yes, actually. They sent me a nice little glossy brochure that told me exactly none of what I wanted to know. The brochure talked about the 'mutant threat' and the 'tested and proven effective' Collar. Nothing about how it actually worked." Jean smiled sympathetically. Gloria got the impression that she knew the exact brochure. 

"So how was Finnessey, when he arrived?"

"Well, I didn't see him for the first few days. You'd have to ask someone else how he acted. But I saw him for the first time when he was brought in for some kind of fit--the guards thought it was epilepsy. It was--."

Suddenly there was a sharp rap on the door and a nurse poked his head in. "Dr. Nathan, Officer Eaton's just taken a shank to the stomach."

Gloria stood up. "Isn't Dr. Finnessey on duty?"

The nurse looked uncomfortable. "Yes. Finnessey's prepping him now, but we thought..."

_You thought an inmate shouldn't treat a CO. Or maybe that the mutant wouldn't do as good a job as a 'normal.'_ Gloria sighed. "I'll be there in just a moment. Help Doctor Finnessey get started, please." The nurse ducked out. Gloria turned to Dr. Grey. "I'm sorry about this. Life in Oz." She grabbed a folder off the top of a pile and set it down in front of the other woman. "I pulled Finnessey's file for you. You can see for yourself what we treated him for during the time he had the Collar. I'll be back as soon as I have this patient stabilized."

************

**Oz: Supply Room**

 

Landry's work assignment for non-class time turned out to be gopher-ing for the infirmary. Today, some orderly had told him to fetch paper from the supply room so they could finish printing out something or other. At about 2:30, this errand brought him to the copy room, where Christopher Keller was working alone. Alone except for Tobias Beecher, who, at about 2:20, had told Sister Pete that he was after some paper to finish printing out something-or-other. Like clockwork, the two older inmates were waiting when Landry stepped in to the room. 

"Hey kid," said Keller with an attempt at a friendly grin that in truth looked dangerous and feral.

Landry looked suspicious. "Hey. I need some paper."

"What's the rush?" Keller asked, stepping forward. "Stay and chat!"

Toby jumped in with his easy, look-I'm-no-threat smile and manner. "Hey, what I think my friend means is 'Hi, my name's Chris.' And I'm Tobias Beecher."

Landry suddenly looked harder at the self-effacing blond. "You're Beecher?"

"You've heard of me, then," said Beecher, taking a seat casually on a box by the wall.

"You could say that," said Landry. He looked back and forth between the two smiling men. "What do you want?"

"Hey, buddy, we just wanted to meet you. To talk," said Chris, opening his arms wide. Landry looked skeptical.

"Have a seat," Beecher instructed, making it sound like a casual suggestion. "You smoke?" Landry shook his head. "Me neither. It's bad for you, you know." Landry slowly seated himself on a box opposite Beecher. Chris, meanwhile, pulled up an overturned bucket between the door and the other men, and sat down.

"So how do you like Oz so far?" Beecher asked. Landry shrugged. "Stupid question. Nobody likes Oz. Well-"

Keller interrupted. "Here's the deal, kid. We don't know why McManus put you in with Schillinger, but it's crap. We've been where you are now."

Landry turned sharply to Chris. "You have been where I am?" Chris just nodded.

"You don't have to stay with Schillinger," Beecher said earnestly, leaning forward. "McManus will move you, if you ask. Lots of people don't like Schillinger. You'll have protection if you want it."

"McManus told me about you. What Schillinger did."

Beecher paled a bit. "Oh yeah? What'd he say?"

Landry shrugged. "Stuff." 

Keller jumped back in. "Look, kid. What happened to Toby sucked, and he doesn't want the same shit to happen to you, okay?"

"Really?" said Landry skeptically. "So you're doing this out of charity?"

"Or maybe sympathy," said Beecher. "What have you got to lose here? We're offering to help you, no strings attached. That's probably an Oz first."

"Then why should I believe you?"

"McManus told you what Schillinger did to me, right?" Beecher asked after a moment. Landry nodded. "Nobody did anything to help me. Nobody cared. And I don't want someone to go through the same thing, all right. That's all."

"So, now you've escaped Schillinger, right?" asked Landry, looking away.  
"You're free?"

"As free as a man can be in Oz."

"Maybe it's different for you. You've still got protection." He glanced surreptitiously at Keller. "But can you see me on my own in Em City? Can you see me getting away from Schillinger if he doesn't want me to?"

"Listen, Landry. We can help you," Beecher said earnestly, reaching his hand over to rest on the kid's knees. "If you let us, we can get you away from that fuck."

Landry considered for a moment. Then he pulled away, leaning back against the wall. "But you couldn't get away, could you? Didn't he still hurt you? Didn't he break your legs? Didn't he kill your son?"

Keller tensed, ready to jump to Beecher's defense. Beecher pursed his lips, then said tightly, "Well, you don't have kids, do you, so that's not a problem."

Landry glared, clearly not amused. Not that Keller or Beecher was either, not any more. "Maybe I'm better off where I am."

"Yeah, maybe you are," snapped Keller. "Let's go, Toby." He grabbed Toby's elbow.

Beecher shook Chris off. "No, hey, it's not worth it, kid. You're going to get hurt, killed probably."

"No I'm not. Mr. Schillinger protects me. He loves me," said Landry simply.

"What?!" Keller practically shouted. "Loves you? Holy shit, kid." Beecher looked like he was going to be sick.

"Hey, at least I'm good at what I do," Landry protested. 

"What is it that you do? Aside from getting fucked in the ass and slobbering all over your Nazi master?" Keller shot back, jumping to his feet. Beecher put a cautious hand on his arm to hold him back. 

"Fuck you! Schillinger told me all about you," Landry said, leveling his gaze at Beecher. "He said you were never that good a prag to begin with, but you did even worse on your own. I mean look at youâ€"prag of another prag. What the fuck is that?"

Beecher was reeling. This kid, whose eyes were always _glued_ to the fucking floor, the kid who ended every utterance with "ma'am" or "sir," the kid who never raised his voice above a cute Southern drawl was getting in a shouting match with _Keller? I'm going to be sick,_ Beecher though. _Or possibly violent._ "Hey, I'm not ashamed of what I am, all right?" he managed to say. _Am I?_

"Well you should be," spat the little Southerner, surging to his feet. "Instead of running away from Schillinger like a worthless pussy and ending up even worse off, you should have just stayed."

"Stayed?" Beecher repeated, his temper winning over his feeling of nausea. "Stayed to be raped and humiliated and--and--." He couldn't find the fucking words for what that Aryan fuck had done.

Landry broke in before Beecher could collect his thought. "If you hadn't failed at even being a decent _prag,_ he wouldn't have had to do those things to you. If you hadn't tried to run away, he wouldn't have had to hurt you."

"What! What the fuck kind of a life goal is it to be a good prag!" Beecher shouted, standing and taking a threatening step forward. It was Keller who had his hand on Beech's arm now, as the usually level-headed man flushed with anger.

"What kind of a fuck-up can't even cut it as a prag?" Landry shouted, right in Beecher's face. "If you weren't such a failure, I guess your son wouldn't be dead!"

Keller let go of Beecher and ran his fist right into the chattering little bitch's face. The kid went down into a pile of boxes. _Shit,_ was all Keller could think. _Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._ Beecher was just staring, open-mouthed. Keller could practically see old wounds opening up before his eyes as Beecher was sucked into a vortex of regrets and self-pity. _Shit._ "Toby," he grabbed the smaller man by the shoulders and shook him until his eyes saw again. "Toby, we've gotta go. Come on." Keller dragged him out the door, sparing a look back at Landry, who was sitting up, expression of pain-sorrow-anger-whatever- in his big brown eyes. _Fuck you kid. You're on your fucking own._


	3. Chapter 3

**Xavier Institute**

"Dr. Nathan let me have a copy of the record. It's unbelievable. Look at this, Professor. January fourteenth: Patient experiences seizure of unknown origin. January seventeenth: patient referred for medication. Patient cannot answer basic questions: name, date, etc. January twenty-first: fractured cheekbone. Witnesses claim patient 'fell down the stairs.' January twenty-sixth: patient collapsed at lunch, unconscious approximately 20 minutes. No apparent cause. February first: anal tearing. Six stitches. February fourth: Seizure. February fifth: seizure. February seventh: patient found unconscious in pod during count. February tenth: Non-seizure fit of unknown origin. The list goes on." Jean tossed the paper onto the Professor's desk.

Professor Xavier picked it up gingerly. "And since they've discontinued use of the Collar?"

Jean smirked. "Hardly anything. No seizures, no sudden lapses in consciousness. He does have frequent headaches, but it could be unrelated. Professor, the symptoms in this record are the same as what's happening to all the other inmates who still are subjected to Collars."

"I know, Jean. I know," Xavier sighed. 

"It's not just the seizures and the pain," Jean continued, starting to pace. "It's the lack of lucidity, the loss of self. He couldn't even defend himselfâ€"I mean, fractured cheekbone from 'falling down the stairs?' And anal tearing, sir, you know that means rape. Surviving prison requires alertness; it requires at least a basic ability to recognize one's environment and respond to it, which is just the start of what the Collar takes away!"

"Jean, I _know_ ," said Xavier, more sharply. "You're getting warmed up for the courtroom, I see?"

"Sorry Professor," said Jean, planting herself in a chair in front of her mentor's desk. "It's just... I think we could actually fix this. I think we might have a case."

"Do you have more work to do at Oswald?"

"Yes. I need to interview some of the Correctional Officers, some of the inmates, and Finnessey, if he'll talk to me. You've met him, haven't you?

"Yes. He's an interesting man. Very smart."

"Do you think he'll talk to me?"

"Yes, I think he'd be very interested in making sure others don't share his experience."  
************

**Oz: Em City**

 

Schillinger was sitting on the bottom bunk with two other Aryans when Landry slunk into the pod and sunk to his knees on the floor in front of his master. "Sorry I'm late, sir," the younger man said. Schillinger gave his two cronies a predatory smile, which they returned, in anticipation of some entertainment.

"And why were you late, Benny?" Schillinger asked with false gentleness. 

"I had to go to the infirmary, sir," said Landry. 

Schillinger grabbed Landry's chin and tilted it up. The kid had a small cut on his cheek, right below a rapidly swelling black eye. "What the fuck happened to you?"

Landry lowered his eyes. "I ran into a door."

Schillinger's blue eyes stared coldly down at the Cajun. "Look at me, Ben." Landry looked. "Do I look stupid to you?" 

"No sir."

"Then why would you tell me a lie and expect me to believe it, sugar?"

"It's not a lie, sir."

There was a dangerous silence. Schillinger's sidekicks exchanged hungry grins, ready to see some fireworks. "That's twice, Benny Boy," said the Aryan leader carefully. "Three strikes and you're out. What. Happened. To. Your. Face."

Landry took a breath. "I got hit, sir." Schillinger waited. "Chris Keller." 

"And you lied to me about this because...?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I just... I didn't want... I mean I felt..." Landry raised his tearful brown eyes Schillinger's cold blue ones. "I wanted to be able to take care of myself."

Schillinger laughed unkindly, and the other two Aryans followed suit. "Take care of yourself? Aw, Little Benny, look at you. You wouldn't last five minutes in here if the Brotherhood wasn't already protecting you. The only reason Keller just hit you instead of snapping your pretty little neck is because you _belong_ to me." 

"I'm sorry, sir."

"I know you are, sweetie. But you need to learn that lying is wrong." Schillinger buried his hand in the curly hair at the back of Landry's neck and hauled the younger man close to his face. The other two Aryans moved casually to the door, to block the line of sight from the guard station. "This is a learning moment, _prag._ Are you listening?" 

"Yes sir," said Landry, wincing.

"Everything you have comes from me. Everything you are exists for me. You do not do or say or think anything unless I tell you to."

"Yes sir." 

Schillinger shook Landry by the neck violently, the way a dog shakes a cat in its mouth. "I did not give you permission to speak, did I? Did I? _Did I_?"

"No sir," Landry squeaked.

Schillinger shook him again. "Shut up, prag!" Schillinger dropped him and he fell limply to the floor. "Get up." Landry stumbled to his feet, eyes on the floor. "Get my razor." Landry stumbled to Schillinger's footlocker, opened it and searched until he found an electric razor, one of the many small luxuries Schillinger had bought himself in Oz. Schillinger strode over to the sink, facing the mirror. "Come here." Landry walked over to him. Schillinger turned the younger man around so they could see each other in the mirror. "You are my property, _prag._ Every time you look in the mirror, I don't want you to think about yourself. You're nothing. I want you to think of me, sugar. Now let's get rid of those curls."  
**************  
 **Oz: Em City**

Beecher sidled up to O'Reilly, who was, as usual, leaning up against the railing above the quad, surveying the ebb and flow of life in Em City. "How'd your chat go?" asked Ryan.

"Turned to shit," replied Beecher. 

"Yeah, well. I won't say I told you so," said O'Reilly. "Keller'd better move his rook."

"What? Oh." Beecher peered down into the quad, where Keller was engrossed in a chess game against Augustus Hill. _Doesn't Ryan keep his nose out of anything? Jesus._

"So why does it bother you that Shillinjer's got a new prag? I mean, no skin off your nose, right?" Ryan said, finally turning to look at Beecher.

"Yeah, except that it's _wrong_ ," Beecher spat back. "Besides, now Schillinjer has this perfect symbol to flash around: ohh look at me, I'm so strong and such a good leader I can manipulate a fourteen-year-old kid. It's just status for him."

"True. But it doesn't interfere with my business. It doesn't bother me, Beecher. Moral indignation: not my strong suit. If something comes up thatâ€"Wow."

"What?" asked Beecher for the second time, following Ryan's eyes over to the stairs. _Oh._

"Kid looks like a concentration camp victim. Sieg fuckin' hial," said O'Reilly mildly. 

Benjamin Landry was descending the stairs, eyes on the floor as per usual. His head was shaved--not Bic'd, like some of the other skinheads, just buzzed. With his soft brown curls shorn, he looked smaller, more vulnerable. _And yeah, like a fucking concentration camp victim,_ Beecher conceded. _So how many steps now to licking boots in public?_

"Fine," said Beecher, after a moment. "Don't help. Let Schillinjer do whatever he wants. But I'm going to do what I can. And give my secretary a call when our interests mesh again."

"Pleasure doing business," said Ryan to Beecher's retreating back.  
**************

**Oz: Infirmary**

"I really don't know how much I'll be able to help," said Finnessey sincerely, leaning back in the desk chair. Dr. Nathan had graciously loaned her inmate colleague her office for this occasion. "I know less about the Collar than most people."

"Well, I thought I'd get your impressions, anyway," explained Dr. Grey, "since you were the one whose life was most directly affected."

"Ask away."

"Do you remember anything about the time the Collar was in effect?"

"No. The last thing I remember was them giving me a shot to sedate me at the county jail so they could put the thing on me. And then I woke up at Benchley Memorial, six months later."

"You remember _nothing_ from that time?"

"Scary, isn't it? I had lost weight. I had marks on my body; I didn't know where they'd come from. Six months." Finnessey laughed mirthlessly. "I kept getting in trouble because I didn't know the rules. Of course, I hadn't really been in Oz before then. Didn't know where my pod was, who McManus was, anything."

"So are you glad to have it off?" Dr. Grey asked, her face lined with sympathy.

"Well, there are degrees of glad. I guess I'm glad that I'm alive. There are some days that I wish I were dead. There has never been a time that I wished they would put the Collar back on. That's a place just a little bit worse than death. 

"You see, your body's still moving around. It walks and talks, but you're not there. Nobody's home. And in here, that's an invitation to go on in and rob the place. When I came back, it was just like that. Somebody had broken in and smashed and stolen and taken everything they could carry, and I came back to an empty house. So am I glad to be home? I don't really know, Dr. Grey. I don't know."  
**************

 **Oz: Em City**

"Naw, Cyril. You got a purple card. So you go here. Stop cheating!" Landry said, moving the Irishman's plastic token to the correct square.

"I wasn't cheating," said Cyril.

"You were too," said Landry, crossing his arms.

"Was not!"

"Were too!"

"Was not!"

"Was not!"

"Were too!" 

"Ha! You said you were. So there," said Landry. Cyril laughed at his playmate. 

"Got me. And I was cheating," admitted Cyril. The two were sprawled out on the floor of one of Em City's classrooms, the contraband Candy Land gameboard, gag gift from one of Vern's mailroom buddies, set up between them. "Okay. Your turn."

Landry picked up a card and growled, running his hand over the fuzz on his head. "Fuck me. Lost in the Lollipop Woods." He pushed his token to the correct space. "Your turn."

Cyril picked up another card and moved to the right colored square, this time. "Hey Benjamin. Why you always hang out with that bad man?"

Landry looked up from drawing his own card. "Who? Schillinger?" Cyril nodded. "Well... Damn. Yellow. Your turn." Cyril pulled another card from the stack and moved his piece absently, eyes fixed on Landry.

"He's not a bad man. You see, Cyril, we're friends. He's like... like my best friend." Cyril's face fell a bit. "But your best friend is Ryan, right? So we can be second best friends." 

Cyril perked up at that. "Second best friends. Okay." 

"Come on blue," Landry chanted, pulled another card. "Damn."

Cyril didn't draw another card, instead leaning forward and whispering, "You know that Schill-in-jer does bad things?" 

Landry looked at Cyril quizzically. Then he looked down. "Did he hurt you?" Cyril looked down, too, and nodded.

Landry released a breath, slowly. "Well. That won't happen again, Cyril. 'Cuz now he's got me, he doesn't need anyone else. It's your turn."

"Okay," said Cyril, seriously. "I just wanted to make sure you knew." After getting Landry's nod, he drew his card.

"Did you hear that?" Landry asked, after a moment's silence. 

Cyril froze, listening carefully. From closer, now, somewhere in the quad outside: "Cyyyyyril!"

"Ryan," muttered Cyril.

"Looks like your bro's missed you," said Landry, sitting up. "Well. I guess we should-."

"No," said Cyril, shaking his unruly mane. "We can finish the game if we want."

"Okay." Landry settled back in. "Just make sure your brother doesn't pummel me, okay?"

Cyril smiled. "I can pummel him."

Landry laughed. "Yeah? You think I could pummel him?" he lifted his fists like a boxer and put on a stern face.

Cyril considered him seriously. "You should stick to Candy Land, Benjamin." 

The younger man laughed. "Fine. Your turn or mine?"

"Cyril?" Ryan O'Reilly burst into the classroom, eyes zeroing in on his brother like a heat-seeking missile. "Where the fuck have you been! I couldn't fucking find you!"

"I'm right here," said Cyril testily, and drew a card from the pile. 

Ryan switched his gaze onto Landry. "What the fuck are _you_ doing here?"

"Playing Candy Land," said the Cajun calmly, and drew a card. 

Ryan regarded them both for a moment. Abruptly he charged forward and kicked the board, sending plastic gingerbread man and color-coded cards flying. Then he grabbed Landry by the back of his prison-issue shirt threw him into the nearest row of desks. Cyril stood up, horrified. "Stop it, Ryan!"

"Stay the fuck out of this, Cyril," said the older Irishman, stalking over to where his target had landed. 

Cyril scampered after them, grabbing his brother by the shoulder. "No hitting!"

"Fine," said Ryan, dismissively. "No hitting." He dropped to the ground next to Landry, pressing one knee into the smaller man's chest and wrapping both hands around his throat. "Are you listening to me, you fucking hillbilly faggot? ARE YOU?"

"Yes sir," Landry managed.

"Okay then. I want your worthless prag ass and your fucking Nazi master to stay the fuck away from my brother. Don't speak to him, don't look at him, don't play fucking board games with him. Ever. You're not on my to-do list yet, and I don't think you want to be. So _do_ as I say, got it?

"Yes, sir," gasped out Landry.

The older O'Reilly stood up gracefully, grabbing his brother by the arm, and stalked out with door, with Cyril throwing a pained look over his shoulder.  
***************

 **SVU Squad Room**

"We're sunk. Totally out of luck," said Alex Cabbot, dropping her purse on Benson's desk. "Judge Mayer says that testimony from Landry's cast is inadmissible, and the defense can win the jury over just by mentioning that our star witness is a convicted murderer. That Oswald interview isn't going to be worth a thing now."

"We knew there was a chance Castille would walk," said Stabler calmly. 

"There has got to be something we missed," said Benson vehemently. "How can there be no evidence at all?"

"Sometimes there's just not," said Stabler. "We've seen that."

"Yeah," said Munch. "Like in the case of the Beaumont Conspiracy-"

"Stay off my side, John," Stabler cut in quickly. "There's nothing else we can do, Olivia."

"I want to go to Oswald again. We never got the chance to ask Landry about evidence. He might be able to give us something." Benson turned to Cabbot for support. "It's worth a shot, right?"

Cabbot shrugged. "If Landry could lead us to some concrete evidence, that would help the case and make his testimony more credible."

Benson turned to Stabler. "Fine," he said. "We'll go back when we get a chance. But tell me why you're so hot to get Castille."

"I want him for Landry. I want him because I hate it when we rape the victim, too."  
***************

 **Oz: Em City**

As soon as the lights went out for the night, Landry moved. He stood on his bunk so he could see Schillinger, sitting on his own bunk, smiling confidently. "Sir?"

"I got you a present," said Schillinger, moving to get something out from under his pillow. "Kind of a group effort. I took the insulin syringe from Rebadow, and the India ink from Hoyt."

Landry frowned. "What for, sir?"

"Remember when we talked about branding you, Benjy? It's time." Schillinger smiled as Landry's eyes got wider.

"Oh."

"So where do you want it Little Ben? Thought about it?"

"Yes I have, Mr. Schillinger," said the Cajun, recovering, and showering Schillinger with a mischievous grin. He stepped down onto the floor and stripped off his clothes. "Here," he said, turning around and placing a hand on his back, just above the cleft of his ass. "So you can see it when you fuck me."

_Well shit._ Schillinger slid down from his bunk, parcel in hand. _Kid's ballsier than I gave him credit for. Or maybe just trying to get back in my good graces._ "You know what I want, don't you?"

"I think I do, sir." Landry reached beneath his own pillow and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper: a sketch, which he handed to Schillinger. 

Schillinger examined the scrap paper: it was a traditional German iron cross, with a swastika encircled in the center. Slowly, he smiled at his prag. "You've been doing your homework, Benny Boy." Landry smiled coyly. Schillinger rolled out the supplies on the bottom bunk. Picking out the syringe, he filled it from a bottle of black ink. "All right. There's the mirror, sugar pie."

Landry blinked. "What? I thought you were going to do it, sir."

Schillinger smiled. "Nope. You'll appreciate it more if you do it yourself. Come on, I'll walk you through it.  
***************

**Highway 16**

Jean popped the cassette into the Jeep's tape deck. Her last interview with three Em City inmates had been informative, although the conversation caught on tape before she entered the room was disappointingly banal. She wanted to hear their comments again, see if she could sort anything solid out of their jumble of impressions. She pressed play.

"Have you seen Landry's new tat?"

"No, but I haven't been staring at his ass in the shower, either."

"You think I have? It's not really on his ass."

"God picks the strangest things to tell you, you know that?"

"He didn't tell me, I just saw it."

"So it's a swastika?"

"Well, a swastika thing, I guess. Like a cross."

A clanking sound. _The door opening,_ Jean realized.

"Gentlemen, this is Dr. Jean Grey. Doctor, this is Busmalis, Hill, and Rebadow."

"Hello there."

"Pleased to meet you."

"Welcome."

"Thank you. Nice to meet you all. I'm just here to ask you some questions about Abel Finnessey. I'm investigating the manufacturer of the Smart Collar. Mr. McManus told me that you three had the best eyes and ears in Em City. He said if there was anything worth knowing, that you could tell me."

"Well how 'bout that. Tim likes us."

"I was wondering if you could tell me how Finnessey was when he arrived in Em City?"

"Well he was strange, even for a new fish."

"A total zombie. COs would have to tell him everything ten fuc--. Ten times."

"Did he have a sponsor?"

"Yeah of course. Who was it, do you remember, Bob?"

"No, wasn't it... No."

"It was Adebesi. Which is probably worse than no sponsor at all. Hardly saw them exchange two words."

"Yeah. Not a lot of talking."

"So Finnessey didn't seem quite normal?"

"He was nice enough, I guess, but not all there. Worse than the O'Reilly kid, even. I mean, Cyril can play checkers, but this guy, no way."

"He'd lose track of what was going on. Like a goldfish, you know, living its life in 30 second intervals." 

"And then *bang* he'd take a swing at someone."

"Or start screaming."

"Or pass out."

"Like he just went to some other place, you know?" 

"But you couldn't really hold a conversation with the guy."

"He'd talk to you, but what he said made no sense, or was way out of context."

"Or he'd look at you and say something that made sense, and two seconds later he didn't know what he'd said."

"Did you notice if anyone... took advantage of Finnessey?" 

"We're probably not the right ones to ask."

"Why? Because you won't tell me the truth?"

"No. Well..."

"Who else would she ask, smart guy?"

"Well. Good point."

"So what did you see?"

"I'm not going to name names, but that man was in bad shape, you know?

"Yeah, he was pretty much fair game."

"Most people thought he was like Beecher used to be, you know? Too crazy to mess with."

"But there's always exceptions."

"People who are looking for no strings."

"Or some danger." 

"Anyway, he had his share of bad luck."

"What about after the Collar came off? What was he like afterwards?"

"That was some weird sh- stuff. Like a whole different person."

"Yeah. He didn't know anyone, even though he'd met people before."

"Total amnesia. But at least people stopped messing with him, pretty much."

"And why was that?"

"It's like, with the Collar, people saw him as somethin' dangerous, but in a cage. They knew he couldn't use any fancy mutant powers to blast them all the Hell or whatever. But without it... I mean, even though no one knows what his powers are, it's enough just to keep 'em guessing, you know?"

"Plus the fact that he turned out to be a doctor. I mean, nobody wants to piss off someone who might be looking at you on a gurney after a shanking."

Jean pressed "stop" on the tape desk as she rolled up the Xavier Institute's driveway. It was just what she'd feared. But at least now she could do something about it. Yes, life for mutants in prison was definitely looking up.  
**************

**Oz: Em City**

Landry sat on the floor at Schillinger's feet among the crowd of Em City residents watching the Packers game. Vern hadn't given him headphones, so he just watched, leaning into Schillinger's caress as the older man rubbed the fuzz coming in on his head. 

"Yes. Another TD for the home team," crowed Chuckie Pancamo. "O'Reilly, you're gunna owe me, unless the Steelers-. Hey O'Reilly? Where is that Mick snake?"

"Landry," came a voice from behind the crowd. Landry, Schillinger, and almost everyone else turned to see Tim McManus standing there, characteristic clipboard in hand. "Come with me."

Landry looked up at Schillinger, who gave him a permissive nod. The Cajun stood and picked his way through the other inmates to stand in front of McManus. "Yes sir?"

"Let's go over here." McManus led Landry a little ways off, to get some  
semblance of privacy. 

Schillinger watched them leave, his cool blue eyes easily reading his prag's body language: scared, as usual. The balding assistant warden was talking, giving whatever spiel he'd come to give; Schillinger couldn't hear. Landry's eyes were on the floor, and it was tough to gauge his reaction to McManus' words, but Schillinger was attuned to the subtle differences in the body of the prisoner he owned: the rising shoulders, the tensing fists. _If I didn't know better, I'd think Benny Boy was getting pissed._

McManus put a hand on Landry's shoulder, but the kid took a quick step backwards, shaking the older man's hand off. McManus said something else, and took a step towards Landry. Thinking about it afterwards, Schillinger would realize that he could have told McManus that that was a mistake. After his experiences with Beecher, he knew better than anyone that cornered prey will bite. At that moment, though, Schillinger just watched, in seeming slow motion, as Landry drew back and then pushed McManus hard in the chest. Caught off-guard, McManus stumbled backwards and fell on his ass, his clipboard clattering on the concrete floor.

Almost in unison, the inmates watching the game and the COs at the station whirled around to the source of the noise. And there was a horrified-looking Landry standing over a prone, though uninjured, McManus. In a sudden upswing of noise, the inmates stood to get a better view and two COs came rushing down the stairs. 

Landry sprung into action, ducking out of reach of the nearest CO and running across the quad. A cheer rose from the inmates. Landry paused to kick a table back in the direction of his pursuers, catching one officer in the gut and sending him sprawling to the floor. _Well, I guess I_ didn't _give the kid enough credit,_ a detached part of Schillinger thought, as he moved through the crowd to keep Landry in view. 

Now the alarm was blaring, signaling a lockdown and calling for the SORT team. The prisoners hooted and hollered, but no one was eager to get involved in an altercation that _they_ hadn't planned. At this point, Landry was entertainment enough. 

"That's it, Cajun, give 'em hell!"

"Run, Forrest, run!"

"Shit, Vern, you sure now how to pick 'em."

Schillinger spared the heckler, one of gays, a scowl, then turned back to the chase. Landry was sprinting up the stairs now, now on the deck. As he turned his head to check on his pursuers, he ran head-on into Cyril O'Reilly coming out of his pod. "Benjamin, what-?" the big Irishman began, but Landry had already picked himself up and kept moving. Except that now the COs behind him had nearly caught up, and there were two more closing from the other direction.

With an inarticulate cry of rage and frustration, Landry sank to one knee and held his hands out to either side, as if that alone could fend off the COs. _What the fuck?_ thought Schillinger. Then, over the inmates' yelling, he heard a sound like wind off the plain. 

Landry screamed, and then suddenly, just like that, the COs and Cyril O'Reilly were out on the floor, and Landry was standing in the middle of the deck, one fist clenched in front of him, air around him sort of shimmering, like a heat mirage. 

The other inmates stopped yelling. Some began to back away. There was no sound but the blaring alarm. Hill grabbed Finnessey's arm and hissed "Fucking _do_ something, man!"

"What I am supposed to do, medicate him?" snapped Finnessey. 

Landry raised his head and was looking around, surveying the damage maybe, or looking for his next victim. "Shit," muttered Finnessey under his breath, and took a slow step forward. "Benjamin, hey, it's me. Ben?"

Landry, face blank and cold, snapped his head around to meet Finnessey's eyes. 

"Okay. Let's just... calm down... okay?" Finnessey tried, taking another slow step forward. Landry raised his clenched first. A resounding metallic clang made both the mutants--and the rest of the inmates--turn; the SORT team had arrived, rushing through the contact gate. A group of them rushed to herd the inmates together; most, Schillinger included, stood passively, raising their hands above their heads in surrender. _No point in getting a beating if you don't need to._

One SORT officer dropped a car-battery-sized contraption on the ground just inside the gate. _What the-_ Finnessey had time to think before he collapsed in pain, screaming.

Schillinger watched both Landry and the other mutant drop to the floor, yelling bloody murder. A member of the SORT team was pressing a button on whatever special anti-mutant weapon they'd brought in. _Pretty neat,_ thought Schillinger, as he let himself be herded into a corner with the other inmates. _Takes out any mutant in a range? Hmm._

SORT officers had mounted the stairs, taking batons to Landry with visible enthusiasm; downstairs, others were giving Finnessey the same treatment. "Lockdown, Now! Get in your cages!" the SORT guys were screaming at Schillinger and the others. 

As he started toward his pod with hands raised passively, Schillinger's last glimpse of Landry was of two SORT team officers dragging his prag’s unconscious, limp form through the gate out of Em City.


	4. Chapter 4

**Oz: Warden's Office**

"Warden, Dr. Grey is here," Floria's voice said over the speaker.

"Send her in," said Warden Glynn through clenched teeth. 

The tall, pretty doctor walked in calmly, briefcase in hand, and sat down without waiting for an invitation. "Do you want to start, or should I?" she asked calmly.

"Go right ahead," Glynn said tersely.

"I was very upset to hear about the incident on Thursday," she began. "I'm sorry that it happened, but I think it could have been a lot worse."

"Worse?" snapped Glynn. "A mutant unleashed his powers on my guards. How could it have been worse?"

"He could have killed someone. But he didn't, did he?"

"No. But not for lack of trying."

"Warden, how much has Landry told you about what his abilities are?" asked Dr. Grey carefully.

"Nothing. He hasn't discussed them with me, McManus, our psychologist, anyone."

"Well then. I'm not going to break his confidence by telling you what you don't already know. But I can guarantee you that if we hadn't been having sessions with Landry, there would have been dead bodies in Em City."

Glynn looked searchingly at Dr. Grey. "How much do you know about what happened?"

Grey shook her head. "Not much. They wouldn't tell me anything on the phone, except that there had been no deaths. Was anyone hurt?"

"Landry knocked out four COs and one inmate. Two of the COs and the inmate have some first- and second- degree burns, but they're otherwise fine," Glynn reported.

Grey let out a breath Glynn hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Warden, you have no idea how close you came to a real tragedy. I'm sorry that people got hurt, but it could have been so much worse. What about Landry?"

"He's in Ad Seg. Administrative Segregation."

"Is he all right?" Jean asked anxiously.

"For the most part. He'll be fine."

"I'd like to talk to him."

"When he gets out, Dr. Grey. In twenty-eight days."

"He has to stay in Ad Seg for a _month_?"

"That's the standard term. He injured four of my officers, not to mention a fellow inmate. And he attacked Tim McManus. Landry has to serve the full term."

"He attacked McManus?"

"Well, apparently he pushed him. But that was all. He was out of the way when Landry used his... powers."

"Your SORT team got a chance to use their new toy, I suppose?"

"What? Oh, yes. The disrupter. Yes. If it hadn't worked... We might have had a problem."

"So it did? Work, that is?" 

"Yes. Like a charm."

"And did it 'disable' all the mutants?"

"Yes," said Glynn, somewhat guiltily.

"And how's Finnessey?"

"Recovering. He took a few... scrapes when the SORT team came in. But it appears that the disrupter left no permanent damage."

"Did you think it might?" asked Grey sharply.

Glynn narrowed his eyes. "Dr. Grey, I don't want anyone to get hurt. Not my inmates, and not my COs. I use the tools I have to to get the job done." He took a deep breath and released it. "I'm going to have to talk to the Board of Governors about continuing with these lessons. I'm sure you understand."

"I understand, Warden. I just want to make sure you're well informed." Dr. Grey drew from her purse a plain manila envelope and slid it across the desk to Glynn. "I'll be in touch," she said, and walked out.

Glynn picked up the envelope. He toyed with the clasp for a moment, then opened it and dumped out its contents. _A police report?_ He reached for a black-and-white photograph half-hidden under another document. Attached to the photo was a hand-written sticky note, which read "Landry has gained control and restraint through the training and counseling provided at Oswald." Glynn flipped up the note to look at the photo. The captain underneath read "remains of Henri Castille," which was fortunate, since Glynn might not otherwise have known that the thing in the photo was--had been, at least--a human body. _I guess you're right, Dr. Grey,_ he thought, putting the picture down. _It could have been much, much worse._

************** 

**Oz: Em City**

"Sit down," roared McManus the moment Schillinger stepped into his office.  
Schillinger strolled over to the chair in front of the desk and sat, his patented nice-old-guy smile firmly in place. 

"What can I do for you, Tim?"

"You can stop fucking with Benjamin Landry, for starters," said McManus.

"Fucking with him?" said Schillinger innocently. "I don't know what you mean. I have nothing but love for that kid."

"Yeah, I'll bet you do," fumed the assistant warden. "Okay, Vern. What about the hair?"

"Guess he got tired of the old look. Kid did it to himself, ask anyone."

"The new tattoo?"

"Also self-inflicted. Although I think that Hoyt guy might have supplied. Man's got a serious thing for ink-."

"The black eye?"

"That was _not_ me. I don't hit Landry." _I don't need to._ Vern leaned forward conspiratorially. "I don't want to get anyone in trouble, but between you and me, Landry mentioned that Keller was the one who hit him."

McManus just stared at Schillinger incredulously. "All right. That little scene in the quad today. You gunna tell me you had nothing to do with that?"

"That's right, Timmy. Nobody can predict what a man will do when his sentence comes down. As you may have noticed, our boy Ben is a bit..." Vern pretended to consider. "Fragile. A delicate little flower. Maybe a bit unstable. How are you, by the way? Big Bad Ben didn't push you too hard, did he?"

"If I find any evidence that you have touched that boy, Schillinjer, you will spend the rest of your time at Oz quoting _Mein Kampf_ to the rats in Solitary, got it?"

Schillinger kept smiling. "Sure, Tim. Whatever you say."

*************

Oz: Infirmary 

"Ryan!" Cyril called as his older brother appeared in the infirmary door. "Hi!"

"Hey bro," said Ryan O'Reilly, strolling over to the bed where his brother lay. "You're awake."

"Yeah. I'm okay. Look." Cyril held out his right arm, which was wrapped in bandages from wrist to shoulder. "I've got big band-aids. And sunburn," he added, pointing to his face, which was indeed a robust pink shade. 

"Yeah, look at that," said Ryan, giving a falsely amused chuckle. _I am going to kill that motherfucking cracker freak of nature cocksucking-_

"Where've you been, Ryan?" Cyril asked, derailing Ryan's train of thought. "You weren't there when the thing happened."

_Fuck me. I am the worst brother ever._ "Yeah, I know. Sorry Cyr," Ryan said sincerely. "I had some business to do in the gym. I was only gone for a minute. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," said Cyril graciously. "I don't really remember what happened, anyway. Just woke up here with my arm all hurty."

Yes, thought Ryan. _I am definitely going to kill that faggot-ass Nazi-loving-_

"Ryan?" Both O'Reillys turned at the sound of that particular voice. Gloria Nathan stood, clipboard in hand, a few feet from the bed. "I'm glad you're here," she said, moving to stand on Cyril's other side. "Cyril, I'm ready to release you, but I need to tell you and your brother some things about that arm, okay?"

"Okay," said Cyril happily.

"Sure," said Ryan, watching the doctor carefully. "What's the deal?"

"Well, the arm's got some second-degree burns that range from mild to fairly nasty. There might be some scarring." Nathan waited while Ryan took that information in with just a faint twitch of his lip. "Cyril needs to come here twice a day for us to change the bandages and apply burn cream. Otherwise, keep the bandages dry and take it easy with that arm: no lifting, excessive movement, or boxing." Cyril smiled at that. "If the first-degree burns on your face or body hurt, Cyril, you can use some of this aloe." She handed him a tube of lotion. "That should help make it feel cooler."

"Thank you Dr. Nathan," said Cyril. 

"Thank you, Gloria," said Ryan.

"You're welcome. I'll get an Officer to take you back," she said, and walked away.

Ryan watched her go, anger building somewhere just under his heart. He shoved it away to deal with later, and put on a benign smile for his brother. "All right, Cyril. Let's blow this popsicle stand."

**************

**Oz: Counseling Office**

"Sister Pete?" said a CO from the doorway. "That detective's here."

"Okay, Jan. Send her in," replied Pete. 

"What detective?" asked Beecher, turning away from his computer.

The nun smiled. "She's here to see you, actually. To ask a favor. I told her she could meet you here." 

"Oh." Beecher was vaguely shocked. _What favor would a detective want from me?_

The CO, Katz, Beecher recalled, returned with a cute, intense-looking brunette. "Welcome," said Sister Peter Marie, extending a hand. "I'm Sister Pete, as you might have guessed."

"Olivia Benson," said the lady, shaking the proffered hand. "And this must be-"

"Tobias Beecher," Beecher said, standing and putting the detective through another handshake. 

"Have a seat, detective," said Pete. "Coffee?"

"Please. Black is fine," said Benson, settling on the couch. Before Beecher could resume his seat at the computer, Pete gestured him over to the armchair by the couch. The nun busied herself with the coffee.

"Mr. Beecher, I'm glad you agreed to see me."

Beecher glared at Sister Pete, but her back remained stubbornly turned. "Well," he said at last. "I admit I am curious why you wanted to meet with me."

"Well, I won't keep you in suspense. I know you weren't a criminal lawyer on the outside, but Sister Pete tells me you've been very helpful to some of your fellow inmates." 

Beecher leveled another glare at the nun, but she was taking her time at the coffee. "Not really. Kareem Said, now he's the champion of the people."

Benson smiled. "I don't know that Said would be interested in this case. From what Sister Pete tells me, you've already taken an interest in this one. Benjamin Landry."

Oh yeah, Pete was definitely lingering over the coffee pot. "Landry," said Beecher flatly.

"So you do know him," said Benson.

"I've met him. We've talked."

"Do you know anything about his case?"

"No," said Beecher slowly, surprised to realize that it was true. Although he'd never had Augustus Hill's seemingly omnipotent grasp of each inmate's particular offence, his work typing up psych evals generally kept him well-informed about everyone's dirty little secrets. But not Landry. No, he'd never even seen Landry's file. _A deliberate oversight?_ Now that Pete was approaching with coffee for the lady detective, he could see in her slightly guilty eyes the truth; she'd omitted Landry's files from his work on purpose. _Why?_

"Well," Benson continued. "It's unfortunate, really. We couldn't cut him a break here in New York because the deal he made with us didn't pan out. His sentence just came down, you know." Beecher nodded. Oh, did he know. "Well, his trial in Mississippi was somewhat... questionable. Our ADA doesn't have time to go over it, especially since it isn't really her fight. I thought that if you could at least go over the trial transcripts, that maybe-."

"I'll do it," said Beecher. Sister Pete furrowed her brow in surprise.

"You'll do it?" asked Benson, who had clearly been prepared to continue her pitch. 

"Sure," said Beecher. _Maybe I'll learn something useful._ "Kid needs all the help he can get."

************

Oz: Cafeteria 

"Hey! Vern, buddy!" Ryan O'Reilly shouted jovially, snaking out from behind the serving counter and hustling Schillinger away from the crowd of prisoners waiting in line. "How's it hanging?"

Schillinger glared at O'Reilly. The Irishman smiled back, satin over steel. _Fucking nosy Mick._ "What?" Schillinger asked impatiently.

"I heard your prag's getting out of the Hole today," said O'Reilly, leaning casually against the wall.

"What do you care?" 

"I just wanted to make sure that you're going to be dealing with his behavioral issues." Ryan kept smiling. Officer Bradley walked by, sparing the duo no more than a glance. _Innocent little chat, Officer, no problem here, go on about your business you fucking morons._

"Stay out of my business, got it, Paddy?" said Schillinger calmly. _Nobody tells me how to treat my own fucking property, got it, pal? Besides, you think I don't know that my people are just as scared as you are of my little mutant problem? I'll take care of it in my own way, thank you very much you prying weasel._ "I keep my own house in order."

"Okay, fine," said O'Reilly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. Then he leaned in close to Schillinger's face. Close enough to bite. "If your fucking psycho mutie, redneck prag comes near my brother again, you are over." Without waiting for a response, O'Reilly turned and strode back to the serving line to stand by Cyril.

*************

**Oz: The Basement**

McManus winced at the door's angry squeal as he entered Ad Seg, the infamous "Hole." The CO with him was carrying Landry's clothes, but didn't put them down. Yet. The inmate himself was sitting naked in the corner hugging his knees to his chest, looking like little more than skin stretched over a gawky skeleton, mottled here and there with yellowy patches of healing bruises from the SORT team. He peered at McManus from under his characteristic brown curls that had grown back like weeds.

"Hi Benjamin. We need to talk," said McManus.

"Are they okay?" asked Landry softly. His already husky voice had an edge, rough from disuse.

"Who?"

"Cyril. And the hacks. Nobody would tell me."

"Officer Holtz and Officer Emerson had some burns, and so did Cyril O'Reilly. But they're fine now." McManus heard Landry exhale sharply, but in the dim light he couldn't read the inmate's facial expression. 

"I'm sorry," said Landry. "Sir," he added hastily. "And I'm sorry I pushed you."

McManus scoffed. "Don't worry. I've had worse. But you will not attack a member of this staff again."

Landry studied his feet. "No, sir."

"There is no fighting in Em City."

"No sir."

"Explain to me why I shouldn't bounce you down to Gen Pop." 

Landry was silent for a moment. "Can't defend myself in Gen Pop, sir," he said at last.

"Who do you need to defend yourself from?" Landry shrugged. "I've talked to Vern Schillinger, Benjamin." Landry glanced up quickly, then back down. "He's not going to bother you. If he gives you any shit at all, you come to me, and I'll deal with it, all right?" Landry nodded vaguely. McManus sighed.

"Landry. I want your personal assurance that there won't be any more displays of mutant powers."

"No sir," the kid muttered, so softly McManus almost missed it. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Ever. I mean it. I'd hate for you to spend the next 83 years in solitary."

"Yes sir. I'd hate that too, sir."

McManus nodded to the CO, who threw Landry's clothes on the floor. "Glad we understand each other. Now get dressed."

**************

**Oz: Em City**

Landry was waiting in their pod, freshly showered and dressed, when Schillinger got back from afternoon work detail. "Welcome back, darlin'," Schillinger greeted his prag. "I was hoping you'd be out today. A little birdie told me it was your birthday."

Landry's eyes lit up for a moment with pleasure and surprise. "Sir, I didn't know you knew."

"Of course. What don't I know? Come on sugar," he said. "We're going to the gym."

That was how Landry came to be alone in the gym, the traditional hunting ground of the Aryan Brotherhood, with Schillinger, a handful of Aryans, and some bikers, and no hack in sight. As soon as they walked in, Schillinger had thrown him to the floor and two of the Brotherhood, without much visible effort, had seized him limbs and pinned him, lying on his stomach. 

_Kid's not struggling,_ Vern observed. _At least, not yet. I guess he is well trained._ Schillinger squatted beside Landry's head. "Hey Benny Boy. I know you've just come out of the hole and all, but I thought I'd get the guys to help give you a welcome back party. You see, I had some time to think while you were locked up." He nodded to one of his cronies, Adler, an armed robber in for 12 to 20, who began to disrobe. "Ben, there's some breeds of dog that are just too dangerous to keep. They may act affectionate, eat out of your hand, play fetch, but they could turn on you at any minute." 

Adler stood over Landry's prone form and unrolled a condom over his freed cock. Schillinger watched the kid's breathing speed up, watched him crane his neck backwards to try to see what was happening. Schillinger grabbed Landry's chin with one hand and turned his head back to look at his master. "Like you, Little Ben. That display in the quad was unacceptable."

"But sir, I-," Landry blurted a bit desperately, but Schillinger held up a finger to silence him. 

"What is your purpose in life, _Ben_?" he asked.

"To serve you, sir," said Landry miserably.

"And you only do..?"

"What you tell me to, sir."

Schillinger leaned in close to Landry. "Did I tell you to use your freaky little mutant powers?"

"No sir," Landry whispered.

"No. Exactly." Schillinger gave his prag a quick, close-mouthed kiss on the lips, more of a symbol than an actual physical act, and said, "Go ahead, Adler."

The big neo-Nazi knelt behind Landry as the two Aryans holding him lifted the small man's hips and pulled down his pants. The black iron cross tattoo stood out starkly against Landry's pale flesh. Schillinger stood, his eyes fixed on Landry, who was staring up at him as if trying to read in his master's cold blue eyes what he wanted him to do. _Nothing, honey. I just want my boys to see you suffer, is all. You're the lesson here._

Adler spit into his hand and rubbed it over his cock, then positioned himself at the entrance to Landry's ass. He grabbed the kneeling man's hips and began, agonizingly slowly, to press forward.  
Landry hissed through his teeth; he'd been a month in the hole away from Schillinger's amorous attentions, and Adler wasn’t being gentle. Schillinger smiled down at his prag from his casual position on the sidelines. "It's okay, sugar. You have my permission to let Adler fuck you," Schillinger said with cheerful malice.

Landry panted a couple of times, trying to get his breath, perhaps. Then, perversely, he pushed his hips backwards against Adler, sheathing the man's cock further into his resisting hole. Adler gave a small gasp and Landry's mouth turned up at one corner, just a little, just enough to produce a hint of dimple. 

_You little fucker._ In a flash, Schillinger was squatting by Landry's head again. He grabbed a handful of that silky hair and shook him sharply. "This is not a participation event, sugar. This is a learning moment. So learn." Schillinger nodded back to Adler, who pushed forward again, sheathing the rest of his length with a grunt. 

With Schillinger holding his prag by the head, one Aryan twisting his arm behind his back, another sitting on his legs, and Adler buried balls-deep in his ass, Landry could hardly move even if he'd wanted to. Then Adler began to thrust, slamming into this much-smaller man below him with muffled grunts and fleshy slapping sounds. 

Landry had screwed his eyes closed and was breathing fast and shallow. _He's prettiest when he's scared,_ Schillinger noted with a smile. "Open your eyes, darlin'. You don't want Mr. Adler here to think you don't like, this, right?"

Landry's eyes snapped open, but, Schillinger observed, the situation was too much for him to put on his usual veil of charm. _This is my real prag, for all he pretends he's a pro. Scared, helpless sacrificial lamb. Now that's a turn on._

With a few more deep thrusts, Adler collapsed onto Landry's back, sweating. Schillinger stood and backed off a few steps. The Aryans who'd been holding Landry down did the same, followed by a recovered Adler, who began to re-dress himself. Landry made no move to get up.

Schillinger addressed him, reveling in the waves of hurt and betrayal coming off of the youngster. "We don't have a lot of time here, or everyone would get a turn. But I think you get the idea." He took a step forward. "We do have time to give you another kind of present, though." Abruptly, he pulled back one booted foot and kicked Landry hard in the side, producing a muffled yelp. At that signal, the other Aryans and attendant bikers swarmed around Landry, kicking and kicking, silent but for the sound of impacting flesh and their victim's halting sobs. 

Schillinger stopped first, taking a step back, and the others followed suit. He jerked his head toward the door, and the men began to file out. Before he followed, Schillinger bent down once more to his prag's ear and whispered, "Happy birthday, Benny."

**************

**Oz: Counseling Office**

__

_Me and Henri had been drinking. We got a trucker to pick us up in ####### and take us across the state line. We do that sometimes. Tell 'em we're going to Biloxi. Cuz Henri's got a Mississippi fake ID, and they don't get so suspicious if it's in state, see. So he goes into the liquor store, and I have to stay outside, of course, cuz not even a dumb Mississippi swamp rat is gunna believe that I'm 21, right. So I was ############## and ############################################# ####################################. So we finally decided to just take the 40s we had and go for a walk. We walked up by the highway. And we were sitting up on the overpass by Highway 12. Anyway, we were watching cars go by. And he kept telling me to ############## ####################, that it would be fun, and I kept telling him I wouldn't. Cuz Henri has no idea, you know? He doesn't understand #########################################################################################. But I'd do pretty much anything for Henri. He just gets talking about something and just picks and me and picks at me until I give in. So after a while I said I'd do it, and we started looking for a car that would ########################################. We waited maybe twenty minutes, and I was getting nervous. I told Henri I just wanted to do something else, but he called me a pussy and said that we should keep waiting. So we kept waiting, and then we saw this car that looked like ################################################## #################################################################################################################################. ######## ############################################################################################################################################################################. And I run down the hill, and I'm screaming bloody murder, and here comes Henri after me yelling at me to shut the fuck up. But the car just keeps going, right, and it ################################################################################################################################################################################################################################################################################################################################## like that, so that's when I knew they had to be dead.  
_

Beecher dropped the packet of documents onto his desk and leaned back in his chair. He took of his glasses and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them again, Sister Pete was beside him, holding a cup of coffee. "Well?" she asked.

"This is worse than useless, Sister. Look." He picked up the packet and handed it to her. The nun perched her glasses on her nose and glanced over the page Beecher had been reading. "It's like watching Pulp Fiction edited for network television. They've cut out so much that it's impossible to know what's going on. How can you even tell what he's talking about?"

"I don't know, Tobias."

"How could a jury take this seriously? How could a judge even admit this?"

"Fear can motivate people to do things they wouldn't ordinarily consider. You know that, Tobias," said Sister Pete.

"Yeah. Well I can see why they would have been scared of Benjamin Landry. Shit, Sister. I'm scared of Benjamin Landry."

"Tobias," said the nun pleadingly. She leaned back against her desk. "Are you really scared of that boy?"

"You weren't there, Sister," said Tobias, turning around to face her. "You should have seen what he did to Cyril and those hacks. He dropped them without a thought. And I bet he would have done more if the SORT team hadn't gotten there."

"But no one was badly hurt. And think how scared he must have been," said Pete.

"Yeah," Tobias replied with a derisive snort. "My Uncle Sully used to feed me that line about snakes when we went camping. That they're more scared of you than you are of them. But they bite when they're scared, Sister."

Sister Pete fixed Beecher with her patented look to induce guilt. "Tobias... Don't you wish someone would have helped you?"

"You know I do, Sister. It's not that I don't feel for him, it's just..." Beecher shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what else I can do. He doesn't want to be helped."

"Yes he does, Tobias," said Pete, her serious eyes boring into Beecher's own. "It's just a matter of making him realize it."

**************

**Oz: Infirmary**

Finnessy happened to be on duty when Landry woke up. He went immediately to his fellow mutant's bedside and poured him some water. "Hey. Welcome back. Drink this." 

Landry shook his head groggily, and tried to push himself up with his elbows. "Don't-," warned Finnessy, but Landry had already desisted with a sharp gasp of pain. "Just have some water." Obediently, Landry opened his mouth and allowed Finnessy to pour some water into his mouth. 

After he'd swallowed, Landry said, "Sorry I fucked up."

Finnessy furrowed his brow. "Why are you apologizing to me? I don't have any second-degree burns. For that matter, I'm not the one with the multiple injuries, either." 

Landry winced, and the winced more from the pain of wincing. Looking back up at Finnessy, he tried to explain. "For being mutants, I mean. They hate us now, don't they?"

Finnessy turned to set down the plastic cup of water. "I don't know."

"They do. They think I'm dangerous. That's why this happened. They think all mutants are dangerous, because of what I did" said Landry.

Finnessy turned back to the bed. "Maybe. But maybe they did before, too. Dr. Grey and I have talked about this. It could have been worse. I mean...." Here Finnessy lowered his voice. "You are capable of worse. You weren't totally out of control, right?"

Landry lowered his eyes. "I don't know. I just got so mad, and then I didn't know what I was doing. They wouldn't even tell me if anyone was hurt until McManus came to get me out of the hole."

"Let me give you some advice. You can't worry about all that shit right now. You're lucky to be alive at all. If there are..." Finnessy searched for the right word. "…Parties who mean you harm, you should really think about giving them up. Go into protective custody, even, until people settle down. You keep letting people do this shit to you, you're going to get killed."

Landry glared at him. "You think I _let_ someone do this to me?"

Finnessy shrugged nonchalantly. "I think you let Schillinger get away with a lot more than you should.

"Schillinger didn't do this," said Landry fiercely.

"Fine. I just wanted--." Finnessy stopped short as McManus materialized in the doorway.

"You're awake," said McManus, moving to stand next to the bed. "Can I have a word?"

"I'm not going anywhere," said Landry dully.

McManus looked pointedly at Finnessy. 

"Right. I'm going to look at a chart," said Finnessy. He turned to his patient. "Think about what I said, kid." Then he retreated to Dr. Nathan's office.

"So how do you feel, Benjamin?" asked McManus.

"Like shit, sir" said Landry, keeping his eyes down.

"Well. I guess that's to be expected for a while. You took a pretty nasty beating. You're lucky to be alive."

"So everyone says."

"Ben, I need you to tell me who did this," said McManus. _Because if I don't deal with them, violence against mutants will be the only thing all the gangs can agree on._

Landry shook his head. "Rat, you mean. Funny, that's what Finnessy told me to do."

"Well, he's right. I can't protect you if you don't tell me who hurt you." 

"You can't protect me anyway, McManus. If I don't tell you, they may kill me, but if I do tell you, they'll kill me for sure."

"It's tough to kill someone from solitary." _Unless your name is William Giles._

Landry had no reply to that. "Look," McManus continued. "Please tell me. I know things are hard for you because you're young and you're... different, but you have to trust someone."

Landry laughed: a hoarse, rusty sound, but stopped abruptly, clutching his hand to his ribs with a grimace. "So I should trust you?" 

"Frankly, I don't care if you trust me or not, but you should be smart enough to know that telling me who did this to you can't possibly make you any worse off," said McManus. _Come on, kid. Work with me here._

"McManus, I can't tell you. You know they'll find out I talked."

"No they won't," said McManus. _So close. He'll go for it. He'll tell me. Please, kid._ "If I don't act on what you tell me until later, until I have some evidence, they won't know I didn't figure it out myself." 

Landry was silent for a moment. "If they kill me over this, I'm going to say 'I told you so.'"

McManus smiled. "Fair enough." He waited.

Landry took a shuddering breath. "Okay. I met Ryan O'Reilly when I was coming back to Em City and he told me Mr. Schillinger was waiting in the gym for me. So I went to the gym..." Landry took a couple more shallow breaths.

 _O'Reilly? Right... Because Landry hurt Cyril... Damn, why didn't I see that coming?_ "Go on," prompted McManus.

"At the gym, I didn't see Mr. Schillinger. But Mr. Beecher and um... what's his name? The guy with the crucifix on his arm? He never said his name..."

"Keller," supplied McManus. _Some obscure revenge against Schillinger through his prag? No... Couldn't be... Could it?_

"Yeah. He never said his name. I didn't even know his name, and he..." Landry fell silent.

 _Raped you. Keller raped you. Damnit,_ thought McManus. _I knew he was dangerous, but I never pegged him for this. Unless Landry did something to Beecher, somehow..._ "Then what?"

"Beecher said some stuff to me... Like about if I wasn't with him I was against him," said Landry weakly.

"What did that mean to you?" _'Cuz I'm sure not following._

"Well, before... Before I went in the Hole, Beecher and that other man--Keller, talked to me and told me I should stay away from Mr. Schillinger... And Mr. McManus, I know that some people don't like him, but he's my pod mate," said Landry, a note of pleading creeping into his voice. "I can't avoid him, and... He's one of the only people that's _nice_ to me."

 _Does that mean you're a genius or an idiot for putting them together, Tim?_ McManus thought. "So what did you tell Beecher when he talked to you before?"

"Well, just that Mr. Schillinger was my friend. I guess I kinda got into an argument with Beecher," Landry said shamefacedly. "We were yelling, and he was telling me how I was sick for hanging around Mr. Schillinger, and I was telling him he should mind his own business. And that's when Keller. Well. Anyway. We had an argument," he finished lamely.

 _Didn't Schillinger say something...? Was it by some chance not total bullshit?_ "Wait a second... Did Keller give you that black eye?" McManus asked. Landry nodded. _Fuck me. Will wonders never cease; Vern Schillinger told me something that turned out to be true._ "So in the gym, Beecher talked about your argument."

"I guess. He was pretty upset. I mean, he seemed crazy, Mr. McManus. I was just... It's like he'd lost it. Then he kicked me. And Keller started kicking me. And they were both just kicking and kicking--." Landry broke off. He quickly looked away, but McManus saw the glint of tears in his eyes. "So that's what happened," he choked out.

 _Poor kid. Getting mixed up in the Schillinger-Keller-Crazy Beecher love triangle roller coaster with a side of Ryan fucking O'Reilly._ McManus thought, with a twinge of guilt. _Couldn't you have picked a less dangerous shitstorm to fall into?_ McManus laid a hand on Landry's shoulder. "Thank you, Ben. I'll deal with this." Already formulating a game plan, McManus walked out of the room. He didn't turn back to see Landry smiling to himself.

**************

**Oz: Infirmary**

 

Officer Katz escorted Dr. Grey into the infirmary, where Dr. Finnessy was setting out the morning medication tray for the AIDS ward. "Where's Dr. Nathan?" asked Katz.

"Meeting with the Warden," said Finnessy without looking up.

Katz looked around. "She left you here alone?" he said suspiciously.

Now Finnessy turned around to meet the CO's eyes. Whatever smart retort he'd been about to deliver died on his lips when he saw Dr. Grey standing behind Katz in the doorway. _Dr. Grey. Again. What now? She can't want to talk about the Collar again so soon. Did she find out about Tae? She wouldn't say anything if she had, would she? Why else would she come around? They're waiting for you to talk. Say something._ "Well, not entirely alone. There are patients in the other room," he said at last.  
 _And thanks for the trust, Officer Katz._ "Good morning, Doctor Grey."

"Good morning Doctor Finnessey," said Jean, smiling. Katz scowled and took up a position by the infirmary door. 

"So what brings you back to this little corner of Hell?" Finnessy said, turning back to the meds. _Nothing to do with me, right? I just work here. See, perfectly harmless_.

Jean walked over to the counter where Finnessy was working. "I was hoping to see Landry, actually."

_Landry. Of course. Not me. The world doesn't revolve around you, Abel._ "No visitors," said Finnessy. He put a bottle of pills back in the cabinet and took out another before looking at Jean again. "Really. I had to let McManus see him, but that's it. He gets a private room and everything."

"Is that because his injuries are extensive or because you're afraid someone might try to finish the job?" Jean asked.

Finnessy reached over to grab a clipboard off the top of a nearby cabinet. _Hey Katz, listen to this, too. Take this back to your CO friends and tell them Landry's suffered enough._ He flipped to the second page and read aloud, "Head trauma, three broken ribs, fractured wrist, fractured jaw, broken nose, broken collarbone, dislocated shoulder, lacerated liver, punctured lung, bruised spleen, rectal tearing and internal hemorrhaging. Injuries consistent with rape and severe beating." _Enough to make him square for a couple lousy burns, even if it wasn't a CO who administered justice. Got it, Officer?_

Jean took a sharp breath and held it. "Is he stable?" she asked after a moment.

"Yes. He was awake earlier, and he seemed pretty lucid. We were worried there might be brain damage, but..." Finnessy shrugged. _Thank goodness for small favors. That's just what we need: another Cyril O'Reilly but without a big brother._

"Are there any suspects?" 

"That's not really my area. I just patch 'em up. I bet McManus thinks he knows, at least." _Though if Landry told him the truth, I'm the Queen of England._ Finnessy poured out a handful of pink pills on the counter, and began placing one in each plastic cup in front of him. "But I wouldn't hold out much hope for justice, if I were you."

"Why not?"

"You need evidence. That's something Oz is perpetually short of. So they, whoever they are, will get away with this." Finnessy lowered his voice a notch. "And then every brain-dead Gen Pop malcontent looking to gain some jizz-." _Not to mention the COs out for revenge._ "-will know that it's open season on those dangerous, uncontrollable mutant freaks." 

"So you think this was a hate crime?" Jean asked.

"What do you think?" Finnessy asked sharply. Abruptly he picked up the tray of meds. "I have to do my rounds. I'll see you later, Doctor," he said, and hustled out the door. 

**************

**SVU Squad Room, New York City**

"Tell me again why you're making another trip up to Oswald?" Stabler asked his partner.

"I couldn't see Landry last time. He was in Administrative Segregation last time I went. No visitors," Benson explained. She was busy putting away the day's paperwork so she could finally get out of the office.

"So who'd you see?" asked Stabler.

"No one." Benson filed silently for a moment, aware of Stabler's eyes fixed on her. Finally, she said, "I saw an inmate named Tobias Beecher." Stabler waited for more. Benson finally turned to look at him. "I asked him to look over Landry's case. He's a former lawyer. He's helped other inmates. And he seemed eager."

"You got Landry a lawyer?" said Stabler, a bit incredulously.

"I didn't get him a lawyer, Elliot. I just asked this guy to look at the Mississippi trial. Alex says it looked biased, but what is she supposed to do about it?"

"What are you supposed to do about it? It's not your case."

Benson walked around the desk to stand next to her partner. "Elliot, I know that you're concerned. You think I'm getting too personal."

"I am concerned!" Stabler leaned back in his chair, spreading his arms in a gesture of helplessness. "You've been talking about this case for months." 

"But it's not just a case, okay? It never was _our_ case in the first place. This isn't Detective Benson, NYPD, trying to do her job. This is Olivia Benson, person, trying to make the justice system work for someone."

"Olivia, is it really that important to you?" Stabler asked, narrowing his eyes in concern.

"Yes, Elliot. It is." Benson stood with her arms crossed across her chest, as if daring her partner to argue. 

Stabler crossed his own arms and thought for a moment. "Do you need help?" he asked at last.

Benson cocked her head in surprise. "It's not really your responsibility--."

"I was just offering plain old Elliot Stabler help," said Stabler. "I hear he's an okay guy even without his badge." 

Benson smiled. "Alright, then. Here's what I wanted to do."

*************

**Oz: Em City**

"Hey McManus, got a new girlfriend?" hollered Alan Jameson from across the Em City quad.

McManus ignored the comment, keeping his face buried in the report on his clipboard as he mounted the stairs to his office.

"Yeah, she's looking fine," Poet added.

"Send her to my pod when you're done," quipped O'Reilly, walking downstairs past McManus and making on obscene gesture.

McManus met Officer Murphy at the top of the stairs. "What's this all about?"

"Dr. Grey is here to see you," said Murphy with a grimace.

McManus rolled his eyes. "If I never face another law suit, federal investigation, or public inquiry, it will be too soon," he said. "She been waiting long?"

"No. But you may want to pull the shades. There's a crowd gathering in the classroom to get a view," said Murphy, gesturing across the way where a handful of inmates were "casually" gathered by the window across from McManus' office.

"Great. Thanks Sean," said McManus, and retreated into his office.

Dr. Grey stood as he entered. "Mr. McManus, it's nice to finally meet you."

"Dr. Grey," said McManus, hurrying over to the window that faced the classroom and drawing the blinds. One of the inmates in the opposite classroom shot McManus the finger as the blind blocked them out. "So, what can I do for you?" he said as he dropped into his chair.

"You know why I'm here, don't you Mr. McManus?" said the tall redheaded doctor.

"Smart Collar investigation. Abel Finnessy. Yeah, I've been briefed," said McManus shortly. 

"Alright," said Grey, smiling wanly. "Could you please tell me about your impressions of Abel Finnessy when he arrived?"

"Sure. He was quiet. I met with him right off, since he was a special case in many ways."

"You mean as a mutant."

"Yeah, that comes to mind. Also, he's an upper-class white man. That's not the norm here. Most of our inmates come from poverty. It's usually more of a rough adjustment for those used to privilege." _See Exhibit A, Tobias Beecher._ "All I knew about Finnessey came from his file. When he came in, I have to tell you I thought he was in shock, or something. He hardly said two words, even when I asked him something, and what he did say didn't make a whole lot of sense."

"Didn't that strike you as odd?"

"Not really. Every one of my inmates has their own special trauma. For a man to seem incoherent on his first day inside, well." McManus shrugged. "It's to be expected. I'd never met him before, so I had nothing to compare his behavior to."

"What about later? Did any of his behavior strike you as odd?" 

"A little. I can't say I had that much one-on-one contact with him at first. I did get complaints about him from the COs."

"Complaints?"

"Yeah. That they had to baby-sit him. Meaning they had to tell him what to do all the time. Most of the inmates are fairly self-sufficient, once they learn the routine." _Or acquire a protector._ "To have to tell one to line up for count every single time like he doesn't know any better gets frustrating, especially when they have sixty-three other inmates to deal with." 

"So his behavior was disruptive?"

"Not at first, no. His behavior was just... confused. He wasn't starting fights. He just seemed slow. My first idea was that he just thought he was too good to follow the rules. But when I talked to Officer Murphy about it, he said that wasn't the problem. It was like Finnessey was ret--mentally challenged."

"Did you try to get him help?"

"I had him see the prison psychologist, Sister Pete. She kept seeing him regularly, but there wasn't much good she could do with him not really talking." _Not that he talks to Pete any more nowadays._ "Besides, by then he was having other problems."

"Such as?"

"Medical problems. Doctor Nathan could tell you more. Seizures, screaming fits, that kind of thing. She prescribed some medication that kept him manageable."

"Yes, she told me. So you kept him sedated?"

"Yes."

"And what effect did that have on his behavior?"

"He was more sedate," said McManus, straight-faced.

Grey looked up from her note-taking with narrowed eyes and a near-glare. "Anything else?"

"It solved the problem, mostly. Things probably would have continued that way, if we hadn't let him have visitors."

"Why? What happened when he had visitors?"

"It wasn't so much him. He was sedated, after all. It was just... one visitor in particular."

"Who was this visitor?"

"You haven't heard this part yet? I'm surprised." _But she'll find out eventually._ "His sister, Tae Finnessey. After her first visit she demanded to see the warden."

"Why was that?"

"She knew her brother's behavior was... odd. See, no one else in Oz had ever met Abel Finnessey before he arrived here, so no one knew how odd his behavior was. Tae--Ms. Finnessey, complained to me, to the Warden, to anyone who would listen, that the Collar was somehow hurting her brother."

"So the Warden agreed to discontinue using the Collar?"

"Well, not right away. But Ms. Finnessey is a very... persuasive woman." _Very persuasive._ "If it hadn't been for her perseverance, I'm sad to say that Finnessey would probably still be Collared."

"Do you happen to know how I can get in contact with her?"

McManus fidgeted in his chair. "I'm not sure that she'd talk to you, Doctor."

"Why not? 

"Call it intuition. Tae--Miss Finnessey seems to be a little angry at the mutant community." _Just a little..._

Jean narrowed her eyes. "Oh really? Any why is that?"

"You'll see, Doctor," said McManus cryptically. "I'll give you her number, and you can ask her about it yourself. Or try."

"I will," said Jean confidently. _Maybe I'll have more luck than you'd think, Mr. Righteous McManus._ "So how do I get in touch?"

"Cell phone. 876-555-4210," McManus rattled off.

Jean jotted down the number on her notepad, then fixed McManus with a suspicious look. "You have her number memorized?"

"Of course," said McManus, calmly. _She'll find out eventually, Tim. Better that it comes from you._ "We're dating."


	5. Chapter 5

**Oz: Em City**

When Schillinger returned from the post office, Landry was asleep in his bunk. It had been four months since he'd last seen his prag sleep, and the sight itself gave him a small rush. _So innocent. Unspoiled. Well... except for all that bruising._ Landry opened his eyes when Schillinger turned on the water to wash his hands.

"Mr. Schillinger?" he said groggily. 

"Hey, Benjie." _Kid's a glutton for punishment,_ Schillinger thought. _Can't believe he's back with me. I thought for sure Mr. Manus would have stuck him in protective custody, or at least with in a different pod..._

"I missed you, sir," said Landry, struggling to pull himself into a sitting position.

Schillinger turned around and looked at the Cajun incredulously. "What is wrong with you, kid?"

"Well sir, my ribs are still healing, and Dr. Nathan says I'll have to wear this wrist brace for a while--."

"I mean why are you...? Jesus, never mind," said Schillinger with a little laugh. _Kid must have brain damage. Or a death wish._ "I heard you were talking to McManus."

"Yes sir," said Landry earnestly. "He was the only visitor I was allowed to have. So he talked to me a couple of times."

"So what did you tell him, Benny Boy?" Schillinger said, fixing his prag with a warning glare. _I had better like this answer._

Landry leaned forward and said seriously, "Sir, I had to tell him the truth." Schillinger's eyes narrowed, but Landry forged on. "I didn't want to be a rat, sir, but I didn't want it to happen to someone else, see. Beecher and Keller have to be stopped."

Schillinger's blue eyes widened in real surprise. _Let me get this straight... This_ prag _comes up with a plan to fuck up Beecher and Keller with no prompting from me? This kid really can turn shit into gold._ "So that's what happened?"

"Yes, sir. O'Reilly told me you were in the gym, so I went, and Keller and Beecher jumped me," said Landry with a straight face and solemn eyes that proclaimed his seriousness. 

Schillinger smiled despite himself. _Well well well. This could be very good. Maybe I'll keep him after all._ "Okay Ben. I guess as long as you stay on your best behavior from now on, I'll make sure you don't have any more run-ins with Beecher and Keller."

Landry smiled back. "Thank you, sir."  
************ 

**Xavier Institute**

The phone had already rung several times, and Jean was almost ready to hang up and try again later when a voice came on the line. 

"Hello?" The connection was bad, or perhaps it was just hard to hear because of all the noise in the background of wherever the cell phone's owner was. Jean could hear pounding dance music, as if at a club, and a cacophony of voices. _Club music at nine in the morning?_

"Hello. I need to speak to Tae Finnessey please," said Jean, gripping the phone harder as if that would improve the connection.

"Who the fuck is this?" snapped the voice on the other end.

"My name is Jean Grey. I'm with--"

"Who?" shouted the person, Jean thought probably a woman.

"Jean Grey," said Jean, louder. "Tim McManus gave me this number."

"Tim gave you--? Oh wait, are you that mutant chick?"

Jean paused for a moment, unsure on several levels. "I guess so," she said finally.  
"My name is Jean Grey."

"Right. Fine. I'm Tae. But I'm kind of busy right now. Call back in an hour."  
With that Tae, if it was indeed her, hung up. 

Jean was left with a dial tone blaring in her ear. She gently set the receiver down. _That's not quite what I expected,_ she thought. _Mutant chick? That had better not be McManus' term for me._ Her thoughts were interrupted by the jingle of the phone she'd just set down. 

Automatically she grabbed it and heard the same blend of techno music and nonsensical shouting she'd just hung up on. Tae's voice cut through the buzz. "Mutant chick? On second thought, you should come meet me when I get off work. 2:00. The Candlewood Inn. Queens. Okay?"

"Oh--Alright," said Jean in surprise. "Where exactly?" 

"Candlewood Inn. Fucking Google it." The dial tone sounded again.

Jean set down the phone again, already making her plans for the day. _Well, at least this interview won't be boring._  
**************

**Oz: Counseling Office**

*Knock knock*

Beecher turned from his computer monitor to see an uncertain-looking Ben Landry standing in the doorway. 

"Is she not here? I mean, Sister Pete?" asked Landry quickly. 

"No. Had some meeting. Come on in, though," said Beecher

"No, that's alright," said Landry, backing up a step. "I'll just come back-."

"I'm not going to hurt you, kid," said Beecher. 

Landry crossed his arms over his chest, but didn't retreat any farther. "I know. Sorry."

Beecher flashed a disarming smile. "So, I've been looking at your case." _What there is of it._

"What?" said Landry, narrowing his eyes.

"Your case. You know? That thing that happens in court?" he quipped. Landry was looking more suspicious. _Wait a second... Did that detective not tell him? Oh damn._

"What do you know about my case?"

"A NYPD detective asked me to look at it," said Beecher.

Landry looked at him with disbelief. "Why?"

"She heard I'd helped other inmates. I used to be a lawyer. I told her I'd look at it and see if I could help you."

"I don't want your help."

"Yes you do. You just don't know how to ask for it."

Landry looked as if he'd been slapped. He took two steps backward, then turned and practically ran out the door.

Suddenly, Beecher's memory flashed back to a document he'd read earlier that morning; an interview transcript from when two Mississippi detectives had come to New York to question Landry.

 

_"So why didn't you turn yourself in?"_  
"Henri didn't want to."  
"Uh huh. You wanted to, I suppose."  
"Maybe. I felt bad."  
"Well boy, that's mighty hard to believe considering that you then ran all the way  
to New York. And you ran when New York's finest came to take you in."  
"Well, who wouldn't?"  
"Someone with nothing to hide, for starters. Why'd you run?"  
"I don't like cops."  
"I don't like your attitude, boy."  
"Listen. I was never big for my age, and I learned something real early; they'll  
always beat you if they can catch you, so don't let them catch you." 

 

_You want me to catch you, don't you? But you can't stop running. Shit._ Beecher fairly flew out of his chair and into the hallway, looking both ways for a clue as to where his quarry might have fled. The emergency exit sign at the end of the hallway caught his eye. _Ah, the stairway. What fun._ Beecher hurried down the hall and paused before gently pushing open the door. 

In the sunlight filtering in from the stairwell's tiny windows, Beecher could see Landry sitting against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest. "Fuck off," Landry said, voice muffled with tears.

Beecher sat next to him, leaning against the wall. "I'm sorry."

"What the fuck for?" sniffled Landry.

"For upsetting you, I guess."

Landry wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Fuck. You should stay away from me. Stop trying to fucking save me."

"I can't." Beecher slowly reached out and rested his hand on Landry's shoulder. Even this little comfort proved too much; the kid started sobbing, gut-wrenching, choking cries that sent shudders through his body. 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," the kid repeated over and over.

Beecher made soothing noises and rubbed his hand in little circles over Landry's back, but he didn't get any closer. "It'll be okay, kid."

"No, no it won't," Landry said, putting his head in his hands. "I'm so fucked up."

"Everyone in here's fucked up, kid."

Landry gave a little hysterical chuckle. "You're trying to help me because you think I'm a victim. Poor little Ben." He turned his tear-stained face to Beecher and smiled manically. "I am not a good person, okay?"

_And suddenly following this guy into the stairwell seems like a less-than-brilliant plan,_ Beecher thought. 

"I kill people, okay," Landry continued. "Three dead bodies is what got me here. And not with a gun while I was coked up or drunk behind the wheel of the car, we're talking up close and personal, flesh to flesh, with malice a-fucking-forethought." 

Landry leaned closer to Beecher as he spoke, but Toby refused to give way, refused to show any of the fear that was rising in his throat. _He won't hurt me. He doesn't want to hurt me. He's just playing tough._ "You're not the baddest con in here, Benjamin."

"Yeah, but I'm not some innocent victim," said Landry, putting a hand on Beecher's leg and leaning in closer.

_Don't fuck with me, kid. I wrote the book on prag-turned-crazy man._ "I didn't think you were," Beecher said casually. Landry stopped for a moment. Beecher continued. "No one in here is innocent."

"Then why do you keep trying to help me!" Landry leaned back against the wall, covering his eyes with his hands.

"Because I can. Because you need help. Not because you deserve it. Is that philosophical enough for you?"

Landry laughed. It was an ugly sound, like breaking glass. "I'm fucking you over."

Beecher squinted, confused. "Excuse me?"

Landry rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hand. "I fucking told McManus that it was you and Keller who attacked me in the gym."

Beecher stared at him silently for a moment, then said, "He couldn't believe that."

"I think he did," said Landry, opening his teary eyes again to look sideways at Beecher. "I'm sorry."

_The black eye. He must have told McManus about that scene in the copy room._ Beecher felt his fist clench and unclench spasmodically at his side. "Well, no harm no foul. There's obviously no evidence, so it's just talk," he said evenly. 

"It doesn't bother you that I sold you out?" asked Landry with a sniff.

Beecher considered. _There's one thing you can do to prove that you're truly sorry. I remember._ "Tell McManus the truth." 

Landry shook his head vehemently. "You know I can't do that."

"Won't do it."

"Same thing." Landry turned his back to the older man.

Beecher grabbed Landry's shoulder and turned him back around. "This could fuck up my parole."

"I'm sorry."

_Chris._ "And Keller's already a lifer. They could put him in solitary." _I couldn't see him._

"I'm so fucking sorry. I can't take it back now. I told you I was a bad person." Landry made a half-hearted attempt to pull away from Beecher, but Toby just tightened his grip, fingers digging into the kid's shoulder.

"You're not as bad as you try to be."

"No?" Landry asked mildly. He looked away, then turned back to meet Beecher's eyes. In a sudden, fluid movement he'd pushed Beecher down onto his back, and landed straddling the bigger man's waist. He leaned low over Beecher, face-to-face, grinding his ass into the other man's pelvis. "Stop trying to help me." Lightning-quick, he dove in and kissed Beecher, grinding his lips hard into Toby's and forcing his tongue into his mouth. Then he sat up abruptly. "I'm sorry," he gasped, and darted out the door.

Toby sat up, wiping his kiss-swollen lips with the back of his hand. _Fucking hell,_ he thought, staring after Landry. _Maybe that prag-turned-crazy-man book has a sequel._  
*************

**Candlewood Inn, Queens**

Scott had insisted on accompanying Jean on her impromptu trip to the city. "I know you can take care of yourself. I just thought I could keep you company on the drive," he'd said. Truth be told, Jean wasn't that upset that he'd decided to tag along. _If she's as hostile as McManus hinted, I won't be sorry to have some back-up._

Jean had thought, perhaps, that the Candlewood Inn would be a family diner. Or maybe a specialty shop. The address was in a crumbling commercial district, and the storefront whose sign read "Candlewood Inn" was unassuming. Its windows were painted black, and a sign nailed to the door said: "Open 24 hrs. No minors." Even standing outside, Jean could hear the bass thump of music issuing from inside. She exchanged a look with Scott. _Oh this is going to be interesting._ She took a deep breath and pulled the door open. 

She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dim light inside. Scott, of course, with his special "sunglasses," experienced no such handicap. The music was earsplitting. Jean stepped out of the doorway and glanced around. A bar, mostly empty of customers, took up one long wall. The opposite wall sported a small stage with three evenly spaced poles running from floor to ceiling. A woman was onstage, moving to the music. _Oh. Ohhh._  
  
"I guess you're Jean," said a voice from behind the couple. Jean and Scott turned to look. A young woman smoking a cigarette leaned against the wall. "Who's the beefcake?" 

Scott held out his hand. "I'm Scott Summers. Also with the Xavier Institute," he said with a winning smile. 

"Let's go," Tae said, ignoring Scott's proffered hand. She gestured to the couple to move. In a moment the trio stood in the sunlight on the street. "I'm Tae. I suppose you got that already." The woman took a last drag on her cigarette, then dropped it and ground it into the snow with the heel of her calf-high boot. 

"Yes, I figured," said Jean. "We'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's okay."

"I let you drive all the way up here, didn't I? Come on, I know a place. I'm starved." Tae set off down the street, and Jean and Scott hurried after her.

"So, you work there?" Jean asked casually as they walked.

Tae laughed. "Uh huh. And no, I don't wash dishes. What do you two do for a living? Besides ask questions, that it."

"We're teachers," said Scott. "At a school for the gifted."

"Mutants, you mean," said Tae.

"Well, yes."

"That must be all kinds of fun. This is it." Tae led the couple into a cramped diner and slid into a corner booth. "I recommend the eggs."

Jean sat down across from the younger woman. Scott settled in beside her. "You come here a lot, then?" he asked conversationally.

"Well, it's close to work." 

A middle-aged, gingham-clad waitress wandered up, clutching her pad and pencil. "The usual, honey?" she said to Tae.

Tae nodded. "Yes, please. And coffee."

The waitress turned to Jean. "I'll have what she's having," said Jean. 

"Make that three," said Scott.

The waitress nodded. To Tae, she said, "Mindy should be here in about ten," and then she wandered away.

Tae took a packet of Sweet 'n Low from the box at the end of the booth and toyed with it, folding the edges down and smoothing them out again. "So. You have questions?"

"Yes. I was hoping we could talk about your brother," said Jean. Scott studiously folded his arms over his chest and leaned back, ready to play "silent cop" and let Jean, who was usually so good with people, do the talking.

"Yes. My brother." Tae smiled and ripped open the Sweet 'n Low, pouring it into a neat little pile on the table. "What do you want to know?"

"Tim McManus told me that you were the reason the Warden decided to discontinue use of the Smart Collar."

"That's probably true. Personally, I think Warden Glynn capitulated out of sheer annoyance. But hey, whatever works."

"Can you tell me how exactly you went about convincing him?"

"I called Glynn's secretary every day asking for meetings. And I insisted of meeting with Tim McManus."

"Why McManus?"

"Because he's in charge of my brother's cell block. And because it pissed Glynn off."

Jean furrowed her brow. "Why was that?"

"You've met with him. Can you figure it out?" Tae blew softly on the pile of Sweet 'n Low, sending the granules scattering across the table top.

Jean thought for a moment. "Wait--is it because his office is in Em City?"

"Got it in one. Apparently I was causing disturbances."

Scott looked between the two women, confused.

"I have tits," Tae explained. "Maximum security prisoners don't get to see a lot of those. Besides, it's a long drive up to Oswald. Whose fault is it if I was on my way to work?"

 _Oh what I wouldn't give to have been a fly on the wall in Em City_ that _day_ , Jean though. She laid a reassuring hand on the leg of her boyfriend, who was blushing furiously.

"Anyway," continued Tae. "I kept demanding meetings and being my own charming self until Glynn did what I wanted. It only took six months."

Jean nodded. "You should know that I'm preparing a law suit against the manufacturers of the Smart Collar. Your brother's case will be important evidence if the case goes to trial."

"Okay. And?" Tae was using the edge of another packet of Sweet 'n Low to arrange the mess she'd made into a series of tidy lines.

Jean shot a frustrated glance over to Scott. _Isn't she even a little interested?_ "I want to be able to say that Oswald discontinued use of the Smart Collar because of the adverse effect it had on the health of the inmate it was used on--your brother."

"Well, then say it."

Jean narrowed her eyes in annoyance. "What I'm saying, Miss Finnessey, is that I need to know if there was any other factors that influenced that decision."

Tae looked up from her Sweet 'n Low and smiled. "Oh. I see. Then why didn't you just ask?"

"I'm asking now."

Tae looked Jean right in the eyes and said, "No, I didn't fuck Tim McManus in exchange for helping my brother." 

Jean's eyes widened. Scott cleared his throat loudly. The waitress re-appeared with three plates of eggs and toast, which she set in front of her customers, and a coffee pot, with which she filled the empty mugs on the table. The trio remained silent until she walked away.

"Does that answer your question?" asked Tae coolly. She wiped the lines of Sweet 'n Low into her hand, then poured the handful into her coffee.

 _Yes, but it raises some others._ "Tim McManus led me to believe that the two of you had a... relationship."

"Yes, we have a relationship. Which has nothing to do with my brother." Tae sipped her coffee.

Jean lifted her own mug, but didn't drink. "I don't mean to be rude, Ms. Finnessey, but a jury might see the situation differently."

"Not my problem," Tae said and began to devour her eggs. 

_Well, I guess McManus warned me._ Jean picked up her own fork, Scott followed suit, and the three ate in silence for a few moments. Finally, she said, "You know, there are dozens of other prisoners all over the country who are still subjected to Smart Collars."

Tae set down her fork. "Boo hoo for them. I wish you well, lady, I really do, but I don't want to get involved in this whole thing."

"But you are involved! It's because of you that changes were made at Oswald, and that's sure to come up at a trial."

Tae was about to reply when the door to the diner opened, admitting a gust of cold wind, an older woman whose winter coat didn't completely cover her gingham diner uniform, and a bundled-up toddler. The latter two made straight for the booth where Tae sat with her guests. 

"Hey baby," said Tae, sliding out of the booth to pick up the toddler. She turned to the other woman. "Hey Mindy. Was she good?"

 

Taking off her coat, Mindy smiled. "Always is. Traffic was shit, that's why we're late. I've gotta get back there. Bye honey," she said to the toddler in Tae's arms, then disappeared behind the counter.

Tae set her burden down on the booth's bench and began removing winter gear: a hat, scarf, mittens, and coat. Jean watched the operation, eyebrows raised in curiosity. Tae finally got the little girl pared down to street clothes and sat the child beside her at the booth. The little girl had adorable blonde pigtails, and was staring at Scott with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. 

"So. Is she yours?" Jean asked finally.

"I guess so," said Tae. "This is my niece, Becca. Becca, this is Jean and Scott. Can you say 'hi,' Bec?" The toddler raised one tiny hand and waved shyly across the table.

Scott smiled. "Hi Becca." 

_Cute,_ Jean thought. Then it hit her. "Your niece? You mean-."

"You got it, Sherlock. I'm her guardian."

Jean found herself staring at the child as Tae fed her pieces of toast with jam. "I'm just surprised. I've talked to your brother several times, and he's never mentioned her."

"Yeah, well. It's a touchy subject."

"Why's that?"

"Abel's not allowed to see her."

"You mean you won't take her there?" asked Scott acidly.

"I mean that he's legally prohibited from interacting with his daughter, okay?" Tae snapped. "Part of the package now when you're guilty of using your mutant powers to commit a felony. You're an unfit parent, and you child has to go to a non-mutant guardian."

Scott leaned forward earnestly. "What?"

"It's called the Prevention of the Corruption of Minors Act. Missed that memo, did you?" 

"So you're not a mutant?" Jean asked doubtfully. 

"Not legally, no. I'm not registered, and don't plan on becoming registered. Unless I ever get arrested and compelled to give a DNA test, in which case they register you automatically, just like fingerprints. So as far as Child Protective Services is concerned, no, I'm not a mutant. Bec, don't eat the toothpicks." Tae pried a toothpick out of her niece's hand and replaced it with a plastic teething ring from her purse. 

"Listen, Tae," said Jean earnestly. "There's got to be something we can do to help you. It's not fair that--."

"Listen, lady. The Mutant Rights Defense League or Mutants Anonymous or People for the Ethical Treatment of Mutants or whoever the hell you represent wasn't interested in Abel during his trial or his sentencing or when I was trying to get them to take the damn Collar off, so don't tell me you're interested in his welfare now," Tae said. "We've got to go." She scooped up her niece, coat and all, and stalked out of the diner.  
************* 

**SVU Squad Room, New York City**

 

"Hey Fin. You got a minute?" Olivia asked as she seated herself casually on the edge of his desk.

Fin leaned back from his computer. "Sure. What's up?

"I want to know if you have an unsolved case during the week of June 16th last summer."

Fin studied Olivia for a moment. "Is this for that pedophile case you're working?" he asked at last.

"No, actually. It's--."

"Let me guess. Do the names Landry or Castille figure into this equation?" Olivia smiled sheepishly. Fin replied with a sigh. "All right. I'll check. Mind telling me more specifically what I'm looking for?"

"I wish I could. Here's what I do know: Landry said in his testimony that the night he killed Remy Castille, Castille had gone out and done something 'bad.' Landry wouldn't say what that bad thing was. I'm wondering if he might have left a victim."

"Maybe. Or maybe the 'bad thing' was visiting Lola the mistress of pain, or going to a KKK rally, or eating at McDonald's. Who knows?"

"You're right, Fin, it couldn't be anything. But Remy Castille helped kill two people less than a week before coming to New York, not to mention spending years helping his father sexually enslave and abuse a younger boy. So I have the idea that his idea of making trouble is probably pretty criminal."

"All right. Point taken. I'll check it out. I'll let you know."

"Thanks Fin, you're great."

"I'm the best."  
************

**Oz: Em City**

It was late afternoon on a Tuesday. Normal business hours for the operations of Em City's residents. The Latinos were gathered in El Cid's pod, the gays were having a fingernail-painting party near the television, and the members of the Aryan Brotherhood were huddled around a couple of tables in the corner of the quad farthest from the guard station. 

Schillinger was addressing the troops. "We've been increasing our influence while the Niggers and Spics have been fighting, but if we expect others to respect us, we can't tolerate threats. It's come to my attention that a certain obnoxious Mick has been talking a big game about how he has us Aryans under control. He thinks we're scared of him. Ryan O'Reilly is getting a little too big for his britches, and I have just the way to put him down," Schillinger said. "Prag! Come here."

Landry crawled from where he had been sitting on the floor to kneel by his master. "We all know that O'Reilly was a weak spot when it comes to his retard brother. The question is how to use that weakness effectively. That's where Ben here comes in. If Chris Keller could seduce Tobias Beecher, I'm pretty sure that Benny here getting Cyril O'Reilly in the sack will be like taking candy from a retarded baby." The assembled Brotherhood members exchanged looks that varied from incredulous to amused.

Adler spoke up. "Sir, I'm sure you've already thought of this, but, um... Won't Ryan O'Reilly put a stop to that?"

"Well, there's some risk involved. But Benny Boy is brave," Schillinger said. He paused for a laugh, which his cronies provided. "Besides, I would bet money that Ryan O'Reilly will land himself in the Hole before too long. That will get him out of the way long enough for Ben to make his move. Then we'll see who's under control."  
************

**Oz: Counseling Office**

 

"Tobias? You remember that detective is coming in today," Sister Pete said from her desk.

"Yes, I remember," said Beecher without pausing from his typing.

"Have you made any progress?" she asked nonchalantly.

Beecher stopped typing. Pete was trying to be casual, but he knew she really cared about this case. Or, more accurately, cared about Beecher's part in helping on this case. _Part of my 'healing process.'_ "Some. I have an idea of what a real lawyer would want to challenge on appeal."

"That's a start, at least."

"Yep. But there's not much I can do without more information. The cases are pretty well linked, and I don't know much about the New York prosecution's case."

Sister Pete sighed. "Tobias, aren't you going to ask my why I never gave you Landry's file to type?"

Toby smiled. _Nope. Waiting got the job done._ "I figured you'd tell me if you wanted me to know."

"I trust you, Tobias. You get access to information that's very sensitive. Information that other inmates might not want anyone else to know," said Pete slowly. Beecher turned to look at his boss and waited for her to go on. "I wanted you to come to your own conclusions about him. I wanted you to decide to help him on your own, before you knew about, well, everything."

"Jeez, Pete, you're scaring me. I've seen Landry do some pretty fucked-up things." _Believe me._ "I bet nothing in his case history would surprise me."

Sister Pete fixed him with an admonishing look. "Here's the file. You may have to save it for later--Detective Benson is supposed to be here any minute." She handed Beecher a file folder thick with copies of documents and notes written in her own neat, cramped hand.

Beecher opened it and began flipping randomly through the pages. _History of sexual abuse dating back several years... identified as a father figure... fierce devotion... experienced panic attacks at thought of separation... refusing to testify...repetition of target behaviors... Stockholm Syndrome... denied the abuse... inhibited sense of individuality... likely to continue established behaviors...,_ Beecher read. _Jesus. No wonder this kid can't help himself._

"Sister Pete?" Officer Eaton was standing in the doorway. "There's an NYPD detective here to see you."

"Yes, thank you Alan. Send her in," said Pete.

"It's a he," said Eaton. He stepped into the hallway and a moment later returned with a well-built, blue-eyed man with a receding hairline and a hawk-like nose.

"I'm Sister Peter Marie, and this is Tobias Beecher," said the nun.

"Detective Benson couldn't come. She had to be at a trial. I'm Detective Stabler," said the newcomer, and exchanged handshakes with Sister Pete and Beecher.

 _He's cute. Damn cute,_ thought Beecher. _I used to be so straight._ "I've been looking over the materials Detective Benson gave me," he said. "And I think I've found some things." Beecher grabbed his notes form his desk and took a seat on the couch. Stabler sat on a nearby chair, and Sister Pete opted simply to lean against her desk. 

"So, counselor, how's the situation?"

"I'm not a counselor anymore, detective. Disbarred, actually," Beecher said, with only a flutter of regret at the memory. "The first thing Landry needs is a real lawyer. But there are definitely grounds for an appeal." Stabler leaned forward, listening.

"My argument would be that Landry should never have been tried as an adult in the first place. For starters, according to what there is of the statement, he was not the instigator of the action, merely a participant. Of course, since Henri Castille is dead, there's no one to corroborate that story. But I'm willing to bet that if the prosecution had had Henri to pin this on, Landry would never have been hit with manslaughter charges. From what I've seen of Landry's behavior, and judging from the relationship he had with Castille, I'd say it's pretty clear who planned their little adventure."

"All right. So that's an argument against the manslaughter charge. What about assault with a deadly weapon?"

"That one's harder in some ways because of the sheer ridiculousness of the charge," Beecher said, beginning to enjoy the feeling of empowerment that came from knowing his shit backwards and forwards. "I mean, the fact of Landry's mutancy was inadmissible at the trial, so how can they claim he used his powers as a deadly weapon? That's nuts. No evidence was ever presented to prove it. There's a case from Tennessee where a man's deadly weapon conviction was overturned because it was ruled that there was insufficient proof he actually possessed the weapon in question. That should be useful."

"It sounds like you've given this a lot of thought, Mr. Beecher."

Beecher paused. _When the hell was the last time anyone called me Mister?_ "Yes. I suppose I have."

The detective flashed Beecher a wry smile. "Detective Benson and I were hoping that you would be willing to write the appeal."

"Me?" asked Beecher doubtfully.

"Why not, Tobias?" Sister Pete jumped in. "You know all the facts of the case."

"But I'm not a criminal lawyer. I'm not even a lawyer anymore!"

"Neither is Kareem Said," said Pete calmly. 

Beecher shot her a look of barely-concealed annoyance. _Do I sense manipulation? Maybe a little emotional blackmail? Yes, yes I do._ He turned to Detective Stabler. "I don't mean to be rude, detective, but I am curious. Why is the NYPD concerned about this?"

Stabler folded his arms over his chest and leaned back. "We're still trying to catch  
the bad guy. If helping Landry can bring us closer to catching the bad guy, then it's worth  
a shot."

Beecher looked between Stabler and Sister Pete and sighed. "All right. I can write the appeal. As long as someone else can explain to Landry that all this is going on." He fixed Stabler with an accusatory look. "Your partner failed to mention to him that she'd asked me to review his case."

Stabler just smiled. "Must have slipped her mind."

"Right," muttered Beecher.

Sister Pete jumped in, her voice bright and cheery, "So, can I get anyone coffee?"  
************ 

**Oz: Em City**

Schillinger placed a hand on Landry's shoulder, and breathed in the clean scent of his hair. He was standing behind his prag by the door of their pod, watching the action below in the quad. "There he goes," he said, watching Officer Murphy buzz Ryan O'Reilly through the contact gate. "You've got less than ten minutes. Go get 'em, sugar." He slapped Landry on the ass.

Landry pushed open the door of the pod and took off for the table where Cyril was looking at a porno mag. 

"Hey," he said casually, plopping down in the seat next to Cyril.

"Hey!" said Cyril, his face lighting up with a look of surprise and pleasure. "I haven't seen you in a while."

Landry leaned in and lowered his voice to a near whisper. "Ryan told me I shouldn't talk  
to you. But I still want to be friends."

Cyril whispered back, "Me too, Benjamin."

"Fine, then," said Landry with an easy laugh. Across the quad, other eyes were discreetly watching the scene at the table, looking at the body language in an attempt to read the conversation. Cyril and Landry. Landry and Cyril. What's gunna happen. "So. Won't talking to me get you in trouble with Ryan?"

Cyril made a face. "Ryan's not the boss of me."

"Yeah, but he's your brother," Landry pointed out.

"That's not the same."

"But you do what he tells you, right?"

Cyril frowned. "Do you have a brother?"

"Naw," said Landry, shaking his head. "No family at all, really. So I guess I wouldn't know what it's like."

"It's nice," said Cyril. 

Landry smiled playfully. "Maybe. But I wouldn't want _your_ brother."

Cyril returned his smile. "No, you probably wouldn't."

"Whatcha reading?" Landry asked to change the subject.

"Magazine," said Cyril. With a slight blush, he closed the magazine. Not that the cover picture was any more modest than the spread that had previously been visible.

Landry put both elbows on the table, propping his head in his hands; he was a picture of friendly innocence. "Hey Cyril, tell me something. Do you remember what it was like to be with a woman? On the outside?" Landry asked softly. 

"Um..." said Cyril uncertainly.

"I was just wondering," said Landry quickly. "See-." He leaned in closer to Cyril.  
"I've never been with a woman." He leaned back again. "But on the outside you were a bad-ass Irish gang boss, shit!" Landry laughed, and Cyril joined him.

"I don't remember much," said Cyril sadly, once he was done laughing. "Mostly I remember Oz."

"That sucks," said Landry. "What a crappy thing to have to remember. Plus," he laughed again. "Not so much pussy up in here."

Cyril laughed too. "Nope, only here," he said, pointing to the magazine on the table. Then he glanced cautiously around and leaned in toward Landry. "But there's something else," he whispered. Landry raised an eyebrow inquisitively, and Cyril inclined his head to the left where, a few tables away, Keller and Beecher were playing chess. 

Landry looked from Cyril to the couple and back again. "Like me and Schillinger," he said softly.

Cyril shook his head fiercely. "No. Not like that. Schillinjer isn't... He hurts," Cyril said emphatically, and hung his head.

"Hey," said Landry, scooting his chair closer to Cyril's. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't worry about Schillinger, okay? Forget about him."

Cyril shrugged. "I just don't want him to hurt you."

"I do what I have to," said Landry quietly. Cyril gave him a pained look. "Hey, it's okay. I may not have a big brother to look after me, but I can take care of myself. Besides, I won't be with Schillinger forever."

"Yeah. Augustus says he might be paroled in a few years."

"That's not what I meant," said Landry softly. "I meant that..." He blushed and turned away. "Forget it."

"What?" asked Cyril, concerned. "Benjamin, what?"

Landry turned back to look at the Irishman. "I thought there might be something else. Something better." Cyril looked confused. "I mean, things here suck, but sometimes... I mean, like you said, like Beecher and Keller, sometimes people find something together." Cyril's eyes widened in understanding.

Landry gently put his hand on the back of Cyril's neck and leaned forward until their foreheads were touching. "And it's not always bad. It doesn't always hurt. If you love the person enough." 

Cyril raised his tortured eyes to Landry's hopeful ones. Their lips were practically touching. Throughout the quad, onlookers had their eyes riveted to the scene.

The moment was interrupted when Ryan O'Reilly, charging like the bull tattooed on his bicep, slammed his fist into the side of Benjamin Landry's head, sending his chair flipping over and clattering to the floor next to the Cajun. "Get the FUCK away from him!" Ryan yelled.

The guards from the station stormed down the stairs as the other inmates surged to their feet and drew nearer to get a good view. Cyril dove to the floor by a dazed Landry. "Benjamin!"

"Get away from him, Cyril," said Ryan dangerously, standing above the two. "Right now."

"No," said Cyril, standing up to face his brother. "You get away." 

The guards reached the scene. Officer Bradley hit Ryan in the back of the knees, sending him sprawling to the floor. Officer Holtz grabbed his arms, and then they were pulling him away toward the gate. The other inmates cheered. Ryan struggled against the guards, screaming. "You're a dead man, Landry! A fucking dead man!"


	6. Chapter Six

**SVU Squad Room: New York City**

Fin dropped a file folder on Olivia's desk. "What's this?" she said, looking up from her computer. 

"Some contenders," Fin explained. "There are actually three open cases for the night of the June 16th that took place in the appropriate time frame. A convenience store robbery, a rape/homicide, and a drive-by shooting." 

Olivia opened the file, flipping though the papers inside. "So what's your money on?"

"I was going to say 'none of the above.'" Fin leaned casually on Olivia's desk. "Then I called up New Orleans."

Olivia looked hopefully at Fin. "Where Landry and the Castilles lived before they came to New York."

Fin nodded. "Bingo. Two open rape/homicide cases with matching MOs and signatures in the past year."

Olivia shook her head in disbelief. "So either a certain rapist/murderer moved from New Orleans to New York around the same time as our boys-."

"Or we may have a new lead on a case," Fin finished. 

"I guess I need to talk to Landry again," Olivia said, reaching for her coat. "Thanks, Fin."

"Have a nice drive," said Fin. "And you're welcome." 

**********

**Oz: Em City**

"Benjamin Landry wants to talk to you," said Officer Holtz from the doorway. 

McManus looked up from his never-ending pile of paperwork. "Fine. Send him in."

Landry, looking smaller than normal in an oversized sweatshirt, slunk into the room and installed himself in the chair opposite McManus' desk.

McManus finished writing a note to himself, then set down his pen and turned his attention to Em City's youngest resident. "Yes?" he asked expectantly.

"Sir, I was hoping that... I mean I guess I wanted..." he began. He looked up at McManus, who raised his eyebrows encouragingly. "Sir, can I switch cells?" Landry said at last.

_Interesting._ "Switch cells? Have you been having problems with Schillinger?" McManus asked.

"No!" Landry said quickly. "No, nothing like that, sir. I just. Well, see, you know I'm friends with Cyril, and-."

_Oh_. "Ryan's in the Hole." Landry nodded. "And you wanted to keep Cyril company."

"He doesn't like to be alone, sir," said Landry. He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Especially at night."

_Well, that I buy._ "So why don't I move one of the Irish in with him?"

Landry blinked. "I dunno, sir. I guess you can move whoever you want. But I just thought..." McManus waited. "I thought it'd be nice to try a different podmate for a while, even if it was just for a month."

_And you thought maybe Schillinger wouldn't have you killed if he thought it was temporary. Good thinking, kid._ "Okay, Benjamin. I'll switch you if you do something for me."

Landry's eyes widened in alarm.

_Shit, Tim, nice phrasing._ "I want some information," he clarified. Landry relaxed visibly. "I want you to tell me who really attacked you in the gym."

McManus caught a flash of fear in Landry's eyes before he masked it. "Sir, I told you already," said Landry softly.

McManus stood and walked around the desk. "You told me something, Ben, but it wasn't the truth." _And two can play at that game._ "You were attacked on September 24th between 4 and 4:30. Tobias Beecher stayed late on work detail that day to finish a project for Sister Pete. He was there until 4:40. Keller spent his time after work detail that day watching the Eagles/Oilers game. Officer Murphy had to break up an altercation between him and Simon Adebisi over a certain foul. They didn't attack you."

Landry stared at his shoes. 

_I know you're scared enough of Schillinger to want to move out of his pod, so tell me what I need to hear._ "Landry? Tell me what really happened."

"That is what really happened, sir." Landry shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "I'm sorry if that's not what you wanted to hear."

_I'm sorry too._ "I'll switch you in with Cyril. You can go," said McManus, and retreated behind his desk.

After Landry had gone, Sean Murphy strolled in. "So, did it work?"

McManus shook his head. "Either he's really telling the truth, or he's smarter than I give him credit for. I thought Keller and Adebesi arguing over a football game was a pretty plausible scenario."

Murphy shrugged. "I thought so too. So what's your next move?"

"I don't know, Sean," McManus sighed. "There's no evidence to be found, and if Keller and Beecher really did do this, there's no way one will roll on the other. So we may have to file this one unsolved."

Murphy snorted. "Add it to the pile, Tim. What's one more, anyway?" 

**********

**Oz: Interview Room Two**

Landry rolled his eyes when he saw who was waiting to talk to him. He sat down across the table from Detective Benson and shoved his hands into the front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. 

"It's nice to see you again, Benjamin," said Benson politely.

"I'm actually kind of busy," Landry said with a hint of a sneer. "Can we make this quick?"

"You in a hurry to get back to the excitement of prison life?"

"I just don't see why you keep coming to talk to me."

"I've been helping with your appeal," Benson pointed out.

"I didn't ask for that," said Landry softly, staring out the window.

"I know. But I'd still like your help."

"What do you want? I've already told you everything, like, twenty times."

"I want to know what Henri Castille did the night he died. And if he'd done it before."

Landry took a deep breath then released it slowly. "He's dead. It doesn't matter what he did."

"Maybe. Maybe the victim's family would like to know who's responsible. Maybe there were accomplices who should be sharing the blame."

"Like me."

Benson frowned. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what?"

"Did Remy Castille know anything about what his son was doing?"

Landry gave a short, barking laugh. "You could say that, I suppose."

"Just tell me what was going on."

Landry spread his hands out to the sides, invitingly. "What do you want to know?"

"Tell me what happened before Henri Castille left the apartment the night of June 16th."

Landry sighed. "A rehearsal."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Benson, narrowing her eyes in curiosity.

"Whenever Henri went out to... play, he'd try out what he wanted to do first," said Landry carefully. "You know what I mean?"

Benson shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't."

Landry fidgeted. "Okay. So let's say hypothetically speaking that Henri wanted to find some girl and do some stuff. Tie her up, have sex, other stuff." Landry hesitated, and looked to Benson, who gave him an encouraging nod. "He'd try out most of what he wanted to do first. With me."

"I see," said Benson, working to keep her mask of calm professionalism in place. "So this happened often?"

Landry looked away. "Not that often."

 _But too often for your taste._ "Tell me about what kinds of things he rehearsed."

"How he was going to tie her up and do other stuff..." Landry trailed off.

"Benjamin? What other stuff?" Benson pressed.

He waved a hand vaguely. "Stuff. Cutting. Beating. Sex. Whatever he wanted to do."

"And how do you know that he was rehearsing?"

"Cuz I-." Landry paused. "Am I going to get in trouble for this?"

Benson raised an eyebrow. "I don't know. It depends on what you did."

"I didn't hurt anyone. I was just there," Landry said quickly.

"You were where?"

"When he went out. Henri took me with a couple times. Back in New Orleans." Benson cocked her head quizzically, waiting for him to continue. "When he found out what I was, that I was a mutant, that's when it happened the first time. I thought he was just being rough, but after... he took me out with him, which he never did, but he did that time. And we picked up this girl, some girl, I dunno who she was. And so she wouldn't fight, Henri told me to do something, to show her something with my power, so she'd be scared of us. So I did, and then he did to her what we'd done before, except that she didn't want to, and he didn't stop, and she couldn't breathe..." Landry stumbled to a halt. "I didn't touch her, though. I didn't really know what was going to happen."

Benson nodded. "Okay. Did you go with Henri last summer? The night he died?" Landry shook his head. "But you know what he would have done." Landry shrugged. Benson grabbed a file folder from her attaché case and opened it. "Tell me."

"Okay. Well... He would have tied her up," he began.

"How?"

"On her back, with her hands over her head, and her legs under her. If she struggled she'd have rope burn. I always got rope burn from it..." Landry shook his head, then continued. "Then he would have cut her."

"How?"

"Well. He did two sets on me that night. One on my feet and one here." He put a hand on his belly.

Benson flipped through her file and stopped at a crime scene photo. "What would the cuts have looked like?"

Landry considered for a moment, then pulled up his sweatshirt to reveal a pattern of delicate white scars branching out from his navel like veins on a leaf. "Kinda like this."

Benson looked from Landry down at the picture in her hand to see the same pattern carved onto dead flesh in angry red lines. _We have a winner._ "Then what?"

"He must have choked her," said Landry. "He liked to choke me, too, but he always stopped. I mean, I'm still alive, right?"

"Yes you are," said Benson, setting aside the file. "I need you to tell me one more thing."

"Fine," said Landry flatly. "What else can I tell you that you don't already know?"

"I need you to tell me how Remy Castille was involved."

"No," said Landry, shaking his head emphatically.

"Why not? Like you said, Benjamin, you've told me everything else. Why not this?"

"Because. Because he wasn't involved."

"Benjamin, you said that he was. You said that he knew what Henri was doing."

Landry just shook his head again. "I won't say anything bad about Mr. Castille."

Benson stood and walked around the table, closing in on Landry. "You already told us about your history together. That information came up at his trial. Remy Castille already knows that you talked to us."

"But it's okay, because he's okay. He didn't get convicted," Landry said anxiously.

"Right. Which means that he's still out there. And the things he did to you, he's going to keep doing, because he thinks he can get away with it."

Landry crossed his arms over his chest. "He never hurt me."

"He did," said Benson firmly. She put one arm on the back of Landry's chair and lowered herself to his eye level. "And now you can make sure he doesn't hurt anyone else." She could see the conflicting impulses warring in Landry. "How was he involved?"

After a moment, Landry looked away from Benson's searching gaze. "He helped plan. And got the girls to come with us. And he knew the police chief in New Orleans and made sure Henri didn't get in trouble."

"What about the last time, in New York?"

"He drove."

Benson took her hand off the chair and backed up. "Thank you. That's a start."

"Can I go now?" asked Landry in a small voice.

"Sure. Officer?" Benson gathered her things as Landry stood and waited for Officer Howell to cuff him for the walk back to Em City. Benson stopped on her way out the door and said, "You're doing the right thing, Benjamin."

Howell muttered, "That'll be the day: when one of you animals does the right thing." She shoved Landry toward the door. "Let's get you back in your cage."

**********

**Oz: Infirmary**

"Hey Hill. What seems to be the problem?" Finnessey asked as he approached the wheelchair-bound inmate.

"I've got a cold or some shit. Fever, runny nose, headache."

"Huh." Finnessey grabbed a thermometer from a nearby cabinet. "Put this under your tongue. Do you work in the dress factory by any chance?" 

"Ees. Ei?" said Hill around the thermometer.

"Oh, no reason. I guess it's just going around. Ira Rosenberg was in here earlier." Finnessey grabbed the thermometer from Hill's mouth and examined it. "One-oh-one-point-three degrees. That's a fever. Can you take your shirt off, please?" He pulled the disposable head off the thermometer and threw it away. "So, I heard that Dr. Grey interviewed you about the Collar."

Hill looked startled. "Yeah. Well, she talked to me and Busmalis and Rebadow. She just asked us a few questions," he said quickly, stripping off his prison issue t-shirt. "No big." 

"I'm not mad, Hill. Just curious," said Finnessey, going to the sink to scrub. "What did she ask?"

"She asked how you acted when you first got to Oz. Who your sponsor was. If anyone gave you a hard time. You know."

"Yeah. Great." Finnessey shook excess water off his hands angrily.

"What?"

"It's just this whole lawsuit. I feel like my whole life is under a microscope."

"But it's for a good cause, isn't it? Civil rights and all that shit."

"I guess. I just don't like everyone knowing my business is all." Finnessey grabbed a paper towel and dried his hands more vigorously than necessary. "It's not like I did anything wrong. Well, since I've been in Oz, that is." He grabbed a stethoscope from the cabinet.

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask you something."

"Breathe," said Finnessey, laying his stethoscope on Hill's chest. "What?"

"What are you in for, anyway?"

"Why do you care? Breathe again."

"Cuz I couldn't find out from TV or the internet or court records, cuz they're sealed."

Finnessey moved his stethoscope to Hill's back. "Breathe. So?"

"So it's not a matter of public record. It bugs me. I'm kind of a collector, y'know."

"A collector of what?" Finnessey grabbed an otoscope and began to check out Hill's ears.

"Crimes. I know what every man in Oz is in for, what his sentence is, and when he's up for parole. It's a hobby of mine."

"Hill, that's mildly strange."

"Maybe. But it passes the time. So what are you in for?"

Finnessey moved to the other ear. "Don't you think there's a reason no one else knows that information?"

"Just cuz you haven't told anyone."

"So why would I tell you?"

"Cuz I'm asking nicely."

"Well you don't have an ear infection. What color's your snot?"

Hill looked at Finnessey incredulously. "What?"

"If it's yellow or greenish, you might have a bacterial infection," Finnessey explained with a note of exasperation. "Is it clear?"

"Yeah, I guess so," said Hill. "So. Go ahead. Tell me."

"Say 'ah.'" Finnessey grabbed a tongue depressor and a mini flashlight from the nearby cabinet and looked to the back of Hill's throat. "Hm." He turned his back on Hill to throw away the tongue depressor. "Why are you so interested in me, anyway? I'm the same as any other guy in here."

"You had education and money. People like you and Tobias Beecher, Harvard grads, doctors and lawyers don't do real crime. You're not a criminal the way I'm a criminal, the way Ryan O'Reilly's a criminal." Finnessey turned to look at Hill in disbelief. Hill forged on. "I mean, usually with you motherfuckers it's tax evasion or some shit. 'Cept if you're in Oz, it means you're violent. So what'd you do, rich boy?"

"I'm a murderer," said Finnessey sardonically, and leaned against the counter.

"Did you kill a patient? Oh no, wait, I bet you killed your wife or your mistress or some shit."

"I came home from work one night to find two men in my house, standing over the bed where they'd just raped and murdered my wife. So I killed them." 

"Oh." If he could have, Hill would have taken a step backward at the look in Finnessey's eyes. As it was, he just shrunk back into his chair.

"The coroner said that their hearts had collapsed. Guess that explained why they didn't scream for long."

Hill gulped. "So your mutant power is collapsing people's hearts."

"I didn't say that." Finnessy turned his back. "Are you happy now? Here's some fucking Dayquil. Come back before count if you need more. Get out."

***********

**Oz: Em City**

Landry lay awake in his bunk, listening to Cyril's breathing from below him. He rolled over to look out at the darkened Em City. Across the way, he could see Schillinger standing by the door to his own pod. Their eyes met, brown on blue, and Landry could read the menace and the message there: _Get to work, sugar._

Four nights had passed uneventfully for the new podmates. Schillinger was getting impatient with Landry's evasive answers about the status of Operation Little Brother. "Make it happen, Benny Boy," he'd said firmly when they'd met in the hallway before dinner, away from Cyril's prying eyes. "Or I'll go to Plan B."

So Landry listened hard for any sniffle, any change in breathing, any indication that those nightmares that allegedly plagued this particular Irishman would be visiting their pod tonight. Nothing. It was time for a Plan B of his own.

A few moments later, Cyril opened his eyes and looked around the pod. Something had woken him up. He sat still and listened, and immediately heard the sound of crying coming from the bunk above him. _Why is Ryan crying?_ was his first thought. Then he remembered that his brother was in the Hole, and it was Benjamin who occupied the top bunk. 

He swung his legs over the edge of his bed and stood up, turning to see the small figure of his podmate curled up in a corner of his bunk. "Benjamin?" he said softly.

Immediately the crying stopped, and Landry turned over. In the dark it was hard to make out details, but Cyril could see the glistening tracks of tears on Landry's cheeks. "Cyril," Landry said, voice higher than usual. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry."

"What's the matter, Benjamin?"

"Nothing. It's nothing." Landry sat up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "I just had a bad dream."

"I have bad dreams too, sometimes," said Cyril kindly. He leaned against the top bunk. "Ryan sits with me until they go away. Do you want me to sit with you?"

Landry smiled. "Sure. That'd be nice."

Cyril pulled himself up onto Landry's bunk. He sat, leaning against the wall, enjoying the coolness on his bare back. Cyril was wearing his usual nighttime outfit: the classic Ozian white boxers. Landry, arranging himself on Cyril's right, wore the same and a fuzzy sweater. "What was your dream about?" asked Cyril.

"Stuff," said Landry, waving his hand vaguely. He reached out tentatively to touch Cyril's arm, resting his hand near the elbow, where there was burn scarring. "I did that to you. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You didn't mean to," said Cyril, covering Landry's hand with his own.

Landry looked up to meet the Irishman's eyes. "I dream about the people I've hurt."

"I do to, sometimes," Cyril nodded. "I once hurt a man while we were boxing. He died. I didn't mean to hurt him."

"I heard about that," said Landry. "But like you said, it was an accident."

"Yeah," said Cyril sadly. "But he was still hurt."

Landry yawned hugely. "Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?" he asked shyly.

Cyril nodded. He remembered how nice it was to feel the strength of Ryan's arm around his shoulder and know that he was protected. Now he could do the same for someone else. Landry turned on his side, half-way curled up, and Cyril settled in behind him. After a moment's hesitation, Cyril wrapped his arm around Landry's waist, pulling the younger man close to him. Landry responded by rubbing his head affectionately against the Irishman's chest.

A flash of memory came to Cyril: Moira O'Keefe lying in his arms, just like this one hot July night after making love on the roof of his apartment building. His arms had been wrapped around her, just as they were now cradling Landry. At the thought, heat rushed to his groin. He could feel his cock beginning to fill, trapped against Landry's back, separated from the other man by only two thin layers of fabric. Cyril tried to adjust his position so his erection wasn't so obvious.

Landry shifted position, bumping his ass gently into Cyril's groin; Cyril knew right away that the younger man must have felt what was happening. Sure enough, Landry turned over to face Cyril, who winced in embarrassment. 

"Don't be embarrassed," Landry said quickly, ducking his head to meet Cyril's eyes. "I'm not." He placed one hand, pleasantly cool, just below Cyril's navel. Cyril breathed in sharply, but didn't pull away. 

Landry kept his eyes locked onto Cyril's as he edged his hand down. His fingers slowly hooked the waistband of Cyril's boxers and gently pulled them down. Without a word, Cyril lifted his hips to facilitate the move. "Is this okay?" Landry asked earnestly, stopping what he was doing. After a tense moment, Cyril gave a small nod. 

Landry wrapped one small hand around the other man's hard cock. To Cyril, the touch seemed stunningly cold against the burning heat of his member. His back arched slightly. Landry began to move his hand, gently stroking up and down Cyril's length.

Cyril couldn't exactly remember the last time anyone had done this for him, but it felt so good--so much better than anything he'd felt in a long time. Landry seemed to know just how much pressure to use, the right pace, where to gently scratch with a fingernail. 

Landry watched Cyril's face carefully, taking stock of the quicker breathing, the tensing of muscles. In a swift movement, he pushed Cyril gently, sending him onto his back, and Landry straddled his hips. He pulled down his own boxers, freeing his own hard-on. Lowering himself down to kiss Cyril, he felt sparks jump behind his eyes as their two erections bumped together. 

Cyril gasped at the contact, and Landry's tongue skillfully wormed its way into his open mouth, sliding along the roof, wrestling with Cyril's tongue. Landry reached between them to grab both cocks, pressing them together in a wonderfully hot vice. Deepening his kiss, Landry began to stroke their dicks together. 

Cyril cried out softly at the wonderful friction. He kissed Landry back and wrapped his arms around him, crushing the smaller man into his chest. Landry angled his hips forward to get more skin-on-skin contact. This pushed Cyril over the edge, and with another small gasp he shot a load of come between their bodies. After a few more strokes, Landry followed suit, then collapsed onto Cyril's chest.

The two were silent for several minutes, enjoying the rhythm of each other's breathing and the sound of their combined heartbeats coming down from their peak. Landry gracefully rolled off the bunk. He pulled off his sweater, damp with sweat and come, and threw it in the direction of his laundry bag. He fetched a washcloth and dampened it in the sink, then climbed back onto the top bunk. He straddled Cyril's legs and tenderly wiped the come off of his belly. 

Cyril, hands crossed behind his head, watched Landry work. He smiled fondly at the other man, feeling totally relaxed for the first time since his brother had been sent to the Hole. Landry leaned in for a kiss, and Cyril responded with enthusiasm. Ideas were coming back to him: how to kiss, how to hold, what to do after. Memories that he hadn't looked for since his accident at that funeral. _I know how to do this,_ he thought with a sudden burst of confidence. 

Suddenly, Landry pulled away, fear in his eyes. "Cyril, the hacks," he said. Cyril looked over Landry's shoulder and saw the beam of a flashlight approaching further down the row of pods. Landry got off of Cyril, who jumped quickly onto the floor and dove into his own bunk. When Officer Bradley shined his flashlight into the pod, all he saw was two inmates in their own bunks, curled up under the covers.

**********

**184th Street, Queens**

McManus had just raised his hand to knock when Tae opened the door. "Hey," she said. He blinked at her. She had on one of his dress shirts which fell past her waist, almost obscuring the panties that were the only thing covering her bottom half. 

"Hey," he replied. "I brought some wine." He held out the bottle in a brown paper bag.

"Romantic," Tae said with a smile. "Come on in."

McManus stepped into the apartment and shut the door behind him. The first time Tae had brought him here, he'd felt a little claustrophobic. Now the one-room apartment, warmly lit by lamp-light, seemed simply cozy. Tae took the wine over to the counter that delineated the "kitchen" of the apartment. 

"Becca's over at Mindy's for the night," said Tae, gesturing toward the empty crib in the corner. "Could you grab some ice?"

McManus shed his coat, throwing it over a chair. He went to open the window, reaching outside to grab an ice tray that had been set on the ledge to freeze. He shut the window behind him and delivered the ice to Tae, who had produced a bucket and two wine glasses. "So, thanks for giving that mutant chick my number," Tae said as she set the wine bottle in the bucket. "That was a conversation I really enjoyed."

McManus winced. "What was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know." She emptied the ice into the bucket and began rummaging in an open drawer. "It wasn't that bad, actually. I mean, you've talked to her, right?"

"Yes," said McManus carefully. 

"What did you think?"

He shrugged. "She seemed honest, at least. Maybe a little holier-than-thou."

"Agreed. I'm probably going to help her out, anyway." Tae came up with a corkscrew and handed it to McManus. "Her little mutant club may be on my shit list, but what they're doing is important."

"Huh." McManus shook his head, surprised. "I wouldn't have called that one."

"Yeah, why not?"

"I thought you hated that kind of thing," said McManus. He applied the corkscrew to the wine bottle's cork. "I just can't picture you in a courtroom."

"You've never seen me clean up and be a good girl. I come from a family of Harvard alums, Tim. I can put on an evening gown and go to a reception and schmooze and make nice, or put on a power suit and do some business. I just choose not to."

"Most of the time."

"Most of the time. And this time it's something important. I just..." She took the corkscrew away from McManus, who was making no progress, and opened the wine herself. "I know I should, but I'm not crazy about the idea."

"Then don't."

"I already told her I would," said Tae. She grabbed the bucket with the wine and curled up on the couch. "Called her today, set up an appointment to meet again and everything."

"Wow." McManus set the two wine glasses on a nearby end table and settled in next to Tae. "I feel kind of foolish. I all but told her that there was no way in hell that you'd help."

"Maybe your idealism's rubbing off on me," Tae said affectionately. She poured the wine. "It would have to be... This lawsuit will help a lot of people, sure, but I don't want to get too involved."

McManus frowned. "Why not?"

"I just worry. You know, Lydia... Abel's wife. She was a mutant activist. She worked defending mutants in civil rights cases. Very popular in the mutant community." Tae picked up her wine and swirled it around in the glass. "But that's why she was murdered. The two guys Abel killed, the guys that killed Lydia-- they were part of a homo-sapiens supremacy group."

"I had no idea," McManus said, reaching out to rest a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Tae smiled. "Yeah. The press didn't make a big fuss because they had Abel to chew on. But still. This shit ruins people's lives."

"But you're not a well-known activist, Tae," McManus said reassuringly. "You're a witness in a trial. You're not even a mutant."

At that, Tae's smile grew even wider. "Right. What shall we toast?"

McManus picked up his glass. "Well...To a good trial?"

Tae stuck out her tongue. "How about... to an empty apartment?" The two clinked their glasses and sipped. "You don't have to drive back tonight, do you?"

"I have to be back in the morning," Tim admitted reluctantly. "But I can stay for a few hours."

"Good," said Tae, and set down her wine glass. 

************

**Oz: Em City**

"Hey honey. I'm home." Keller swept into the pod and bent down to kiss Beecher, who was sprawled out with some papers and books on the bottom bunk. "What's that shit? Homework?"

"Mmm," replied Beecher, not lifting his eyes from his reading.

"Okay," said Keller, easing himself onto the bunk behind Beecher and wrapping his arms around the other man's waist. "Does that mean fuck off, I'm busy? Or come distract me?"

"Mmm," Beecher repeated. He wrote something down on the legal pad in front of him.

Keller let go of Beecher and lay back on the bunk. "Damn. That means no joy." He watched Beecher work for a few minutes, enjoying the sight of his partner giving his intense attention to the docomeents he was working on. "So what is all this, anyway?" he asked finally.

"Appeal," said Beecher absently.

"Whose?"

"Landry's."

Keller frowned, sitting up to press his chest to Beecher's back. "You're working on his appeal? Why?"

Beecher turned around to look Keller in the face. "I told you. I need to help him."

"I don't see why you keep trying. That kid has caused too much shit." Keller narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Is Sister Pete making you do this?"

"She's not _making_ me do anything, Chris," said Beecher, turning back to his work. "Besides... you don't know..."

"Don't know what?" Keller demanded.

"Stuff." Beecher waved a hand vaguely. "You should see the shit in this kid's file." He briefly glanced back at his partner. "You can't. But if you could, maybe you'd get it."

Keller rested his head against Beecher's shoulder, wrapping his arms around the other man. "There's something else."

Beecher sighed. "He came to talk to me." He felt Keller tense against him. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to get pissed. He told me... He told McManus that we're the ones who attacked him in the gym." 

Keller was quiet for a moment. Then: "That's just talk."

Beecher released the nervous breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "That's what I said. He's confused, Chris. He's fucked up and if I can help him, I will."

Keller squeezed him affectionately. "Jesus, Toby, your heart's bleeding all over my bunk."

"I can't help it. I know it's not really my business, but..."

"Just don't get hurt, okay," said Keller seriously.

"How would I get hurt?"

"You tend to attract trouble."

"I tend to attract trouble?" Beecher asked, incredulous. He craned his neck to give Keller an admonishing glare.

"I don't want you hurt."

"Look at it this way. If I do a good job writing this, there's a decent chance that the verdict will be overturned, or that Landry will be granted a new trial. That means that he'll go back to Mississippi-."

"And he won't be here for you to worry your pretty little head about." Keller smiled. "Okay. I may be on board with this plan."

"I was hoping you would be." 

Keller let his hands roam a little lower. "Now, is there any chance of my getting some of your attention before you finish the appeal?"

Beecher smiled. "Just let me finish this page."

***********

**Oz: The Library**

"Have you talked to Loewe yet?" asked Schillinger. He was seated with a group of his cronies at one end of the library's big table.

"No, but he seems pretty solid," replied Schreiber, an Aryan from Unit B. "If you get a chance, sir, you should sit down with him."

"I'll do that. We could always use some fresh blood. Once our little play against the Irish goes down, we're going to need some extra man power."

Adler spoke up. "Sir, I don't mean to be questioning you or anything, but I am a bit confused."

"About what?" Schillinger asked with false politeness.

"This Irish thing," Adler continued carefully. "I just don't see how this is going to hurt O'Reilly." 

Schillinger glanced around and saw some looks of curiosity on the faces of others of the Brotherhood. _All been wondering, have you? And Adler's the only one with the balls to ask. Typical._ "Fine. Let me spell it out for you," Schillinger said. "Any way this situation ends is good for us. Say that Cyril gets protective enough to kill his brother when Ryan comes looking for Landry. Ryan dead, Cyril on death row. Good for us. Or say that Ryan kills Landry, or has him killed. Everyone in Em City heard him threaten the kid. I'm seeing a trip to death row in that scenario. 

"Or maybe our boy Ben breaks Cyril's poor little heart. Maybe Cyril will kill him, or maybe Ryan will kill him. The Irish aren't just going to let something like that go. Whoever does the deed ends up on death row. It it's Ryan, great. If it's Cyril, then Ryan loses serious cred for not being able to defend his retard brother. And no matter what the outcome, all we're risking is one expendable prag."

"Sir?" A soft voice came from the library door. The Aryans, Schillinger included, turned to see Benjamin Landry standing in the doorway, clutching the book in his hands so hard the his knuckles were white. "Sorry I'm late."

_Damnit._ Schillinger smiled quickly. "Well come sit down, sugar." Landry moved mechanically to kneel on the floor next to his master. The other Aryans exchanged nervous glances. "Manage to lose the retard?"

Landry nodded. "He had a counseling session."

"Well, we were just talking about your little mission. Why don't you share with us how it's going," said Schillinger gesturing around the table.

"I... I think it's going well, sir," said Landry hesitantly.

"And?" Schillinger prompted.

"I'm trying my best, sir."

Schillinger laughed, and the other Aryans joined him. "That's cute, sugar. Really." He reached down casually, grabbed Landry by the neck, and pulled him close. "Sex. Tonight. Make it happen." Schillinger let Landry go, and he dropped to his knees with a bump. "Now run along and play. The big boys have work to do."

"Yes sir," said Landry, and quickly retreated from the sound of the Aryan's laughter. 

*********

**Oz: Ad Seg**

Ryan O'Reilly was laying on the floor, counting cracks in the ceiling when the slot in the metal door squealed open, and a CO's hand thrust in the day's rations. 

"Officer! Wait!" croaked O'Reilly, moving to kneel by the door. He looked up through the slot, craning his neck to get a glimpse of the officer on the other side. _Emerson. Good. I can work that._ "Emerson, I need a favor."

"I don't do favors for inmates, O'Reilly," said the CO, and moved to shut the slot.

"It's about Benjamin Landry."

Emerson paused, and unconsciously rubbed his left hand, which was covered with unsightly burn scarring. "What about him?"

"He needs to be dealt with. Let me get a message to my people, and Landry will get what he deserves."

Emerson thought for a moment in silence, and O'Reilly held his breath. "Okay, O'Reilly. I'll tell you what. You give me the message, and I'll think about it."

_Yeah, I'll bet you will._ "Fine. So here's what you should tell Liam Meaney."

**********

**Oz: Em City**

As soon as the lights went out, Landry leaned over the side of his bunk, grinning upside-down at Cyril. "Hey. Are you asleep?"

"No," said Cyril, sitting up. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting for the lights to go out. Wanna come up?"

Cyril glanced quickly towards the guard station to make sure the hacks weren't on rounds yet, then said, "Sure." He got out of bed and pulled himself up to sit on Landry's bunk. 

Landry took in Cyril's tense muscles and stiff posture and noted his discomfort. He arranged himself casually next to his pod-mate. "I never had any pets when I was a kid, cuz I lived in an orphanage," he began abruptly. "But there was this one cat who lived in the alley out back of my room. And she could jump to the windowsill and squeeze through the bars. I'd sneak food from meals to bring back to her." Landry paused to strip off his baggy sweatshirt, leaving him in his boxers. "This one day I got in a fight with one of the older boys. And he knew I was feeding this cat, right? So he took some rat poison from one of the traps we had in the bathroom, and he put it in some milk in a little bowl and fed it to the cat. I never knew for sure what happened to her, but she didn't come around anymore. He told me she was dead."

"That's sad," said Cyril, watching Landry carefully.

"I know. But I learned something," said Landry, edging closer to Cyril. "When you find something good, you have to hold onto it. In a shit-hole like this, people always try to take away any little bit of happiness anyone else has. But you can't let 'em." Landry placed his hands on either side of Cyril and leaned in for a kiss. Cyril didn't pull away, but he didn't participate either. Landry stopped.

"Cyril?" he asked tentatively.

Cyril looked away. "Benjamin... I don't... I don't really want..."

"Oh." Landry sat back on his heels. "Oh, God, Cyril. I didn't mean..." He blushed furiously. "I'm sorry." 

"Don't be sad, it's okay," said Cyril. _I hurt him... Like when you want someone to like you, but say the wrong thing... I know that._

"I would never hurt you Cyril," said Landry, voice quavering. "I'm not like Schi-. I'm not like that."

Cyril watched Landry's shoulders start to shake, and recognized the too-familiar sounds of repressed sobs. He quickly moved to gather the smaller man in his arms. "Shhh," he soothed. "It's okay, Benjamin."

"I can't do anything right, Cyril. I fuck it up, every time," Landry choked out between sobs. 

Cyril kept holding him, whispering soothing noises and stroking his naked back until he'd cried himself out. Finally, Landry turned to look at Cyril again, eyes slightly puffy from shed tears. "Cyril, I like you. A lot." He turned on his knees to look his pod-mate square in the face. "I'm not... I mean, I don't have a lot of good qualities, but I want to give you something. It's really the only thing I can give you, but I want to. And I promise that if you don't like it, I'll never ask again," Landry said, desperation creeping into his voice. "Please."

Cyril wasn't sure what to say, but the pain in Landry's eyes, the pleading note in his voice... _I don't want to hurt him, and he doesn't want to hurt me...So everything will be okay._ Cyril nodded slowly. 

Landry's eyes lit up. He wrapped his arms around Cyril's neck and gave him a quick kiss. Then he pushed Cyril gently onto his back, and began nibbling his way down the Irishman's chest, pausing to gently bite the left nipple. Cyril's mouth widened in a little "o," but he didn't protest. Landry swirled his tongue around the inside of Cyril's navel, causing the man to give a little giggle. Then Landry pulled at the waist of the white boxers which impeded his progress; Cyril lifted his hips to allow his pod-mate to pull them down.

Landry knelt between Cyril's legs and lowered his head to rub his cheek against Cyril's exposed cock. He gave it several slow, gentle licks along its length before gently wrapping his mouth around the head, causing Cyril to gasp. Landry's eyes snapped up to his pod-mate's face, but saw there only surprise and pleasure, not the pain or alarm he'd feared. 

Cyril was fighting for breath, his brain surging with sensation. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Aside from last night's experience with Landry, it had been so long since anything except his own right hand had given him this kind of pleasure. It was coming back to him, though: the feeling, the memories, the glorious desperation for more. Unconsciously he thrust his hips forward, seeking greater contact.

Landry felt the cock in his mouth hardening, swelling as he sucked on it. He reached down to cup Cyril's balls in one hand, gently hefting their weight. Cyril moaned softly. With a skilled movement, Landry swallowed the Irishman's cock to the hilt, breathing in the man's musky scent.

Landry reached under the mattress and came back with a small bottle of hand lotion. While still holding Cyril in his mouth, he squeezed a generous dollop onto his hands and then slipped his fingers into his body, stretching himself while Cyril watched in fascination. Then Landy moved, straddling Cyril's legs and wrapping one hand around the base of Cyril's erection.

Taking a deep breath, Landry lowered himself, using his hand to steer Cyril's cock as he impaled himself. Cyril's eyes shot open and he raised himself up on his elbows to see Landry slowly sinking onto his cock, head thrown back, free hand braced against the glass wall. Slowly, Landry looked down to meet Cyril's eyes, questioning, seeking permission. Cyril, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps, grabbed Landry's hips and helped guide him further down.

Landry reached forward to grab Cyril's shoulders and pull. Cyril obliged, sitting up as Landry leaned back and wrapped his legs around Cyril's waist. Something clicked for Cyril when he looked down at the person below him on the bed, panting with desire. _I've done this... I know how to do this. I'm_ good _at this._ Cyril moved to his knees, pulling his hips back until he had nearly withdrawn from the hot, tight body under him. Then he thrust forward and felt Landry's legs clamp tighter around him. He found a rhythm, thrusting back and forward, each push eliciting a gentle grunt from Landry. 

Landry reached up to brush Cyril's hair out of his face, meeting his pod-mate's eyes with a look of pleasure and desperation. He reached around Cyril's back, lifting himself to meet Cyril's thrusts, and threw his head back in pleasure. Cyril all but laughed at the unguarded look of joy on his pod-mate's face. It was so different from his usual tortured shyness. _He's... pretty,_ Cyril decided. He felt his heart jump, filling up with more than lust. _When was the last time I made anyone happy?_

With a smile, Cyril tilted his hips, hitting a new spot and causing Landry to gasp, muscles clenching spasmodically. With a gasp of his own, Cyril felt his orgasm wash over him; he thrust hard into Landry and stayed there, burying his head in the Cajun's neck and shuddering. Landry gripped Cyril tighter. The lengths of their bodies pressed together from shoulder to groin, Cyril reveled in the coolness of Landry's skin against his own, which seemed to burn. 

After a moment, Cyril rolled to the side, pulling Landry on top of him. Landry wrapped his arms around Cyril and rested his head on the larger man's chest. "Thank you," he whispered. Cyril lifted his head to kiss Landry. They lay in silence for a few minutes. 

At last, Cyril spoke. "Benjamin," he said softly. "I love you."

Landry was silent for a moment. "Okay," he said finally. "Okay."


	7. Chapter 7

**184th Street, Queens**

"Why are murders always on Saturday nights? Why can't they ever take place on Tuesday afternoons?" asked Munch as he and Stabler mounted the stairs of the crummy apartment building Cragen had called them to.

"Guess they just want to get you out of church on Sunday morning, John," Stabler quipped. "What number?"

"Six seventeen," Munch read off his notebook. He opened the door to the sixth floor. "Or just follow the uniforms." 

The two detectives threaded their way through the jumble of police and CSI techs outside their destination. Fin, standing by the bed, gave the two a nod as they walked into the tiny apartment. 

"Morning," said Benson, pressing a cup of coffee into Stabler's hand. "Glad you  
two could join us."

"What have we got?" asked Munch, holding out his hand for coffee. Benson ignored him.

"Single rape/homicide," said Fin, gesturing to the woman tied to the bed.

"Tell me those cuts are post-mortem," Stabler said as he got close enough to see the victim. Her face and body were marred with deep, jagged wounds.

"Too much blood," said Fin, pointing to the stained sheets. "Perp cut her while she was still alive."

"Neighbors didn't hear screaming?" Munch asked.

"Not that they reported," said Benson.

Stabler edged around the room to stand by the foot of the bed. "Then how'd they shut her up while they did all this?"

"Maybe they put her out first," suggested Munch.

Fin shook his head. "Then why the rape and mutilation? If it's about revenge, then the perp would want her awake."

"What makes you think it's about revenge?" asked Stabler.

"Well, the perp wanted to send some kind of message." Benson pointed in the direction of the body. "Cut her mouth and stabbed her in the eyes. And all these smaller cuts. Don't usually see this much overkill unless the perp knew the vic."

"If they did know each other, I'm guessing that someone's seriously pissed off," said Munch.

"So what do we know about her?" Stabler turned away from the body and began prowling the room. 

"Neighbor found her this morning," Benson read from her notes. "Perp left the door open. Vic is twenty-five, lived here ten months, works at a place called The Candlewood Inn, over on College Point."

"That's a strip joint," said Fin. Stabler and Munch gave him a look. "Don't look at me like that," he said with a shrug. "I just know shit."

“Name was…” Benson flipped to the next page of notes. “Tae Finnessey.”

"None of the neighbors claimed to know her very well," Benson continued.

"Where's the baby?" Stabler asked suddenly.

"What?" Fin gave him a look.

"Crib, toys, kid-sized shoes," explained Stabler. "No kid."

"Kidnapping? Custody dispute?" Benson suggested. "That would jive with our perp-knows-the-vic theory." She turned to a uniformed cop standing in the doorway. "Could you please go back to the super, ask if she knows anything about a child living here?

"Sure thing," said the officer.

"Detectives, there's a woman outside who wants to talk to you," said another uniform, poking her head into the apartment.

"I got it," said Benson. She slid past the officers in the doorway and ventured into the narrow hallway. An older woman stood a little ways down the hall, holding a little girl by the hand. "I'm Detective Benson," she said as she approached. "You wanted to talk to me?"

The woman nodded anxiously. "Can you tell me what's happened? I mean, I know the woman that lives in this apartment, Tae Finnessey. I came by to drop off her niece. Where is she?"

"Are you family?" asked Benson.

"No, just a friend. My name's Mindy Sabin. I watch Becca sometimes," said the woman, gesturing towards the little girl, who was staring up at Benson, wide-eyed. 

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," Benson began gently. "But something's happened to Ms. Finnessey. She's... She passed away last night."

Mindy looked down at the little girl, who was still staring at Benson. "Oh," she said weakly. "That's... Oh." 

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Would it be possible for me to ask you a few questions? We're trying to work out exactly what happened."

"Yes, of course."

"First of all, is there anyone we can call? Parents, relative?"

The woman shook her head. "Just her brother, but he's..." She looked down at Becca. "Honey, could you... Go sit over there?" She pointed to a chair by the elevator.  
Without a word, the little girl let go of her hand and trotted off down the hall. "Tae's brother, that's Becca's father. He's in prison, so Tae isâ€"was her guardian. She doesn't have any other family."

"I see," said Benson, jotting it down on her notepad. "Ms. Sabin, Tae Finnessey was murdered." She gave the woman a moment to digest that fact. "Do you know if Ms. Finnessey had any enemies? Anyone threatening her?"

"Nothing like that," said Mindy. "She kept mostly to herself. Not a lot of friends. She did have some boyfriend, though. That's why Becca stayed with me overnight last night."

"Do you know who he was?"

"I'm not sure. I never met him."

"All right. Have you noticed anything strange lately with Ms. Finnessey? Change in her behavior, suspicious circumstances, anything like that?" asked Benson. "Even something that seems insignificant might be helpful."

Mindy thought for a moment. "A couple weeks back she met with some people I'd never seen before. This was in the diner where I work. It seemed like they were having a pretty intense conversation. Tae certainly left in a hurry. Didn't even finish her lunch. She always eats her lunch."

"Do you know who these people were?"

"Never seen them before. Man and a woman. Pretty redhead. And the man kept his sunglasses on inside. I don't know what they were talking about, but it takes a lot to upset Tae. She's very tough," said Mindy with a small smile. 

"All right," said Benson. "Here's my card. Please call me if you think of something else. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Mindy shook her head. "I don't know how you could help... Becca. What should I do with her?"

Benson sighed. "If you'd like, we can take her to Child Protection Services. You're sure there's no other family?"

"No," said Mindy firmly. "If Becca had had other family, she wouldn't have been staying with Tae."  
*********

**Oz: The Gym**

Liam Meaney grunted as he set down a weight. "Hey, Timmy. Did you hear that shit about Finnessey?"

Timmy Kirk dropped from the pull-up bar. "Nu-uh. What?"

"His sister got whacked," said Meaney, picking up another weight.

Kirk laughed meanly. "Damn. Well, she was probably a fucking mutie too, so no loss there." 

"What compassionate guys," muttered Beecher to Keller as they wrestled on the other side of the gym. "Sucks for Finnessey."

"Yeah," Keller grunted as he pinned Beecher. "And if you kept your head in the match instead of eavesdropping on Irish punks, I wouldn't beat you every time, Toby."

Beecher shoved Keller off of him and sat up. "Yes you would."

Landry slunk into the gym, passing the Italians and the Irish and installing himself in the corner by the speed bag. After a surreptitious look around, he began punching, turning his back to the room.

Meaney nodded to Kirk, and the two sauntered over to the newcomer. "Praaaag," Meaney crooned with more than a touch of menace. 

Without breaking the rhythm of his punches, Landry threw a short "What?" over his shoulder.

Kirk and Meaney exchanged smiles. "We've got a message for you from Ryan O'Reilly."

Across the gym, Beecher saw the two Irish moving in on Landry. "Get off," he said, pushing Keller, who was close to pinning him again. 

"No," said Keller, grabbing Toby's wrist out from under him and twisting him onto his back.

"Chris, get _off_ ," said Beecher. "Now." Keller let go of him and Beecher sprung to his feet. He strode across the gym in Landry's direction.

"Did you really think you could mess with Ryan and get away with it?" Kirk asked Landry, moving in closer. "He warned you to stay away from Cyril."

Meaney reached into his back pocket. Landry took a step back, pressing himself gainst the wall.

"Hey Meaney."

The burly Irishman whirled around to see Tobias Beecher standing a few feet away, smiling benignly. "Get lost Beecher. This is none of your business."

"Probably," said Beecher, moving to stand between Meaney and Landry. "But that usually doesn't stop me."

"Seriously, Beecher," said Kirk. "I think you want to get out of the way. This isn't your problem."

Beecher's smile stretched into a grin. "I've been friends with Ryan O'Reilly for years, boys. I don't think he'd like it if we got into a fight."

Meaney scowled. "Listen, Beech. Ryan asked us to take care of this for him, so butt out."

"No," said Beecher simply.

Meaney took a menacing step in Beecher's direction. "What, you think I won't go through you?"

Keller placed a hand on Meaney's shoulder from behind him. "No, I think you won't. Now fuck off."

Meaney looked from Keller to Beecher back to Keller, then took a step away. "Fine." He turned to Landry. "But this isn't over, prag." He nodded to Kirk, and the two stalked out of the gym. Keller followed them to the door. 

Beecher turned to Landry. "Are you okay?"

Landry stared at the floor. "Sure." Beecher nodded and started to walk away. Landry took a few steps after him and grabbed his hand. "Hey, Beecher." 

Beecher stopped. "Yeah?" 

"Thanks," said Landry with a slight blush. He looked up to meet Beecher's eyes. "Thank you. If there's something I can do for you..." He trailed off, looking at the floor again.

Beecher couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. "Just stay alive until Ryan gets out of the Hole, okay kid?" he said, and went after Keller.

*********

**Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters**

Jean sat down heavily on a sofa by the window. "I did this."

"No you didn't," Scott said. He sat beside her and gently took her hand. 

"It's my fault. I put her in danger" said Jean, covering her face in her hands.

"No," said Scott. "You didn't kill Tae Finnessey." He squeezed her hand. "She knew what she was getting into."

Jean pulled away. "Did she? I should have warned her. I should have told her to be careful. I should have-."

Scott pulled his girlfriend into a fierce hug. "Shh. Jean, no. There's nothing you could have done. Shh." Jean relaxed into his arms, laying her head against his shoulder for a moment. Then she sat up.

"I have to get back to work."

"Jean, it will wait."

"No." She shook her head emphatically. "I want to get back to it. I need to be doing something." Jean stood up quickly and moved over to her desk, where she began to move papers around frantically, adding things to stacks and pulling things out of files. 

Scott followed her. "Jean, do you want me--."

"I'm fine, Scott," she interrupted. She paused for a moment and met his eyes. "I just need to... I'm okay."

Scott gave her a reluctant nod and left her office, shutting the door gently behind him. He took off down the hall, and knocked on Professor Xavier's door. 

"Come in," came the professor's voice, and Scott did so. 

"How is she?" asked Xavier, putting aside his book. 

Scott shook his head. "She's upset. She wanted to keep busy." He sat down across the desk from his mentor. "She feels responsible."

"I trust you explained to her that she's not, that she couldn't be."

"Of course. She just has to believe it, Professor."

Xavier nodded. "This is certainly a setback for our work on the lawsuit."

"Are you sure this murder had something to do with the lawsuit?" Scott asked, leaning forward earnestly. "I just mean that not many people know about the lawsuit in the first place. And hardly anyone knew that Tae was planning to testify." 

"That's right," the professor mused. "But just the same, we should warn anyone else Jean has talked to. The other witnesses might be in danger as well."  
*********

**Oz: Post Office**

"Hey. Doctor Nathan wants this express mailed." Landry held up a manila envelope.

Adler reached across the counter and took it with a lascivious smile. "Sure, honey." Landry turned to go. "Wait up a sec," said Adler. "You weren't going to go without seeing old Vern, are you?" Landry stopped and shook his head. "Just wait here." 

In a moment, Adler was back with a grinning Schillinger. "Cover for me," Schillinger said to his crony. "Ben, come." 

Schillinger swaggered towards an unoccupied storage room, letting Landry follow him like a well-trained pet. Once they were inside, Schillinger shut the door behind him and turned his cold gaze onto his prag. "Adler said you were going to leave without seeing me."

Landry stared at his feet.

"That hurts my feelings, Benny Boy." Schillinger crossed his arms over his chest. "I might start to think you don't love me anymore."

"I do love you, sir," said Landry quickly.

"Show me."

Landry pulled his sweatshirt over his head, then his t-shirt, and stripped off shoes, socks, pants, and boxers to stand naked before Schillinger. He dropped to his knees and set to work unbuckling Schillinger's belt. He unzipped his master's pants, pulled down his boxers, and lifted out the swelling cock inside. Before he could open his mouth to begin, Schillinger grabbed a handful of Landry's hair. "I've got an idea, sugar. I want you to show me what you did with Cyril." Landry stared up at him. "Yeah, that'll be fun. Go on."

"Okay," said Landry with a slight tremble in his voice. "We need to... Will you lie down?"

Schillinger smiled obligingly and settled onto the floor. Landry moved between his legs and leaned down to start a blow job. Schillinger grabbed him by the hair again. "Wait, Benny. I know you didn't just jump old Cyril's bones. So do this right. What did you say? How'd you get him to fuck you?"

Landry took a few deep, shuddering breaths. "I said... I want to give you a gift. I promise you're going to like it."

"That's it, sugar," said Schillinger, leaning back. "Go on."

"Okay," said Landry. "Okay." He covered Schillinger's cock with his mouth, careful to pull his lips over his teeth. Wrapping one hand around the base of his master's erection, he began to suck gently, taking more of Schillinger's length into his throat with every bob of his head. 

"Atta boy," crooned Schillinger. He reached down to grab a handful of Landry's hair. "I bet that retard hadn't ever been sucked like this."

Landry felt his stomach lurch. Carefully he pulled away from Schillinger and repositioned himself, straddling his hips. With one hand, Schillinger grabbed his hard-on, positioning it under Landry's ass. With the other hand, Schillinger gripped Landry's shoulder, pressing him down hard, causing him to gasp as he was impaled.

"You like that, huh?" Schillinger asked cruelly. Landry threw his head back, biting back a cry of pain as Schillinger pushed him down all the way. _Yes, he's certainly pretty when he's in pain,_ Schillinger thought with a smile. 

Landry took a deep breath and reached forward, beckoning to Schillinger to change position. As Schillinger sat up, Landry wrapped his legs around the other man's waist and lowered his shoulders to the floor, leaving the other man on top. Schillinger braced his hands on either side of his prag and smiled. "All right, sugar. Now ask me nicely."

Landry stared off to the side. "Please, sir, fuck me." 

Schillinger grabbed Landry's chin and wrenched his head around to face him. "With enthusiasm, prag. I'm starting to think maybe you prefer Cyril. Is that it?"

Landry's eyes lit up with panic. "No, sir." He wrapped his hands around Schillinger's back and looked directly into his master's eyes. "Please, sir, fuck me in the ass. Please." 

"There's my boy," said Schillinger. He pulled his hips back and thrust hard into Landry, causing his head to snap back in reaction, cracking painfully against the cement. Schillinger pistoned into the man below him, thrusting as hard as he could, fucking him into the floor. Landry gave a small cry with each push, squeezing Schillinger tighter with his legs. "Was that retard as good as me? Was he? Did you like it, prag?" Schillinger hissed in his ear.

"No, sir," Landry gasped as Schillinger pounded into him. "No!" 

"Are you getting attached to the little Irish retard? Huh?" Schillinger wrapped his hands around Landry's throat. "Maybe it's time to get rid of him, then." Landry struggled, weakly trying to pry Schillinger's hands away. "Or maybe it's time to get rid of you." Landry gasped for air, and his muscles convulsed spasmodically. He bucked against Schillinger, who released his hands just as he came deep inside his struggling prag.

Schillinger laughed as he stood up. "That was real sweet, sugar." He tucked his dick back into his pants. "Really. We'll have to do it again sometime. Keep up the good work." He stalked out of the closet, leaving Landry lying naked on the floor, gulping in air.  
**********

**SVU Squad Room, New York City**

"I've got some good news, people," said Cragen as he exited his office. "Alex just called. We've indicted Remy Castille."

"Thank God," said Benson emphatically. "How's the case look?"

"Not bad. Alex thinks that she can make him an accomplice. And she's talking to the New Orleans DA about bringing him up there on similar charges. It will help our case here if we can prove there's a pattern," Cragen explained.

"Well that's great," said Fin with a glance at Benson.

"Yeah. Great. So we can get him on this instead of a child molestation charge," Munch muttered.

Stabler shot him an irritated glare. "It's better than nothing."

"Well, when you put it that way it seems so just," replied Munch.

Cragen interrupted them. "Now, how are we doing on the Finnessey case?"

"I think I have a name on the boyfriend," said Fin, and held up a piece of paper. "There's only one guy whose name is on caller ID numerous times and programmed into her cell phone: a Tim McManus."

"Tim McManus? As in... Do you have a picture?" Benson asked

"Actually, I do," said Fin. "He was already in the system. Works for the Department of Corrections." He opened a file on his computer. Benson came over to look at the image, and shook her head.

"Well I'll be damned," she said. "I knew that name sounded familiar."

"Why? Old boyfriend?" asked Munch.

"Hardly. He's an assistant warden at Oz. I haven't met him, but I've heard about him." 

"Well now he's a suspect," said Stabler. "Did you want to interview him?"

Benson sighed. "Sure. Let's bring him in."  
************

**Oz: Em City**

The lights went out in Em City, leaving the pods in bluish near-darkness. Landry lay awake, and made himself count to ten. Before he reached eight, Cyril spoke. "You awake, Benjamin?"

Landry leaned over the edge of his bunk. "Yeah."

"Wanna come down?" Cyril asked shyly. 

"Yeah." Landry deftly slid off his bunk and crawled into bed with Cyril. "Hey."

"Hey."

Landry snuggled close, resting his head on his pod-mate's chest. "I miss you during the day, you know. When I can't see you." He ran a hand through Cyril's hair. "I want to be near you all the time."

Cyril sighed contentedly. "I like the way you smell. And it rubs off on your pillow, so your bunk smells like you even when you're not there."

Landry lifted his head up, listening. "Hold on," he said, and pushed himself out of bed. When the hack walked by, he was taking a leak. Nothing suspicious at all. When the CO had passed, he paused to strip off his sweatshirt and boxers before climbing back into bed with Cyril.

Landry leaned in close to capture Cyril's mouth with his own, tongue slipping gently inside to battle with Cyril's. Landry ran a practiced hand down the length of Cyril's body, under his boxers to grasp the bigger man's cock, which was already hard and weeping. Landry gave a small, delighted laugh and broke the kiss. "You're ready for this tonight, aren't you?" 

Cyril smiled a bit self-consciously. "I love you," he said simply. 

Landry responded with another kiss, closing his eyes against the sight of Cyril's earnest, open face. Deepening their kiss, Cyril tangled his fingers in Landry's hair: his touch so different from the violent, careless touch of Schillinger. Landry worked his hand up and down Cyril's length, pulling gently and eliciting tiny moans from the other man. 

"Please," Cyril gasped into Landry's mouth. "Please, let me... Please..."

"Here," whispered Landry. He turned over and lifted himself onto all fours, presenting his ass to Cyril. Cyril moved to his knees behind Landry, and softly ran his hand over the man's back, reveling in the smoothness of the skin. He stopped when he reached the base of Landry's spine, where a black tattoo marred the pale expanse of flesh. The swastika. 

Suddenly a burst of memory flashed in Cyril's mind: _Schillinger's laughter, his hands pulling Cyril's hair; pain, concrete biting into his knees; so scared it was hard to breathe, and wondering where Ryan was; Schillinger's chest, maggot-white, and an eagle holding the swastika._

"No!" Cyril screamed, pushing Landry away even as he stood and rushed to the toilet to be violently, thoroughly sick. A surprised Landry picked himself up off the floor and followed his pod-mate. Cyril felt gentle hands gather his hair and hold it back as he brought up the remains of his dinner. He knelt there for a moment until he was sure it was over. 

Landry stroked his back gently. "Shh. It's okay, Cyr. I'm here." Cyril stood abruptly and, with a savage push, sent Landry sprawling, naked, to the floor. 

A hack--it was Emerson--pounded on the glass wall of the pod and blinded Cyril with his flashlight. "Break it up, ladies," he said. Cyril quickly retreated to his bed, pulling a sheet up to his chin and turning his face to the wall.

"You okay?" Emerson asked Landry, who was still on the floor. Landry looked over his shoulder at the CO and nodded. With a glare and a shrug, Emerson walked away. 

Landry waited until the flashlight beam moved back in the direction of the guard post, then crawled over to the bottom bunk. He reached out slowly and shook Cyril by the shoulder. "Leave me alone," Cyril snapped without turning. Landry could see his body shake rhythmically with silent crying.

Landry took his hand away. "What happened?" he asked softly. "Did I do something wrong?" 

"Leave me alone," said Cyril, and pulled his sheet up over his head.

From across the quad, Schillinger watched his prag climb into bed alone, and frowned.  
***********

**Oz: Warden's Office**

Dr. Jean Grey drummed her fingers on her knee, nervously. Glynn's secretary had said he'd be back in just a moment. "Something come up that needed his attention," she'd said with a knowing smile. "That happens, sometimes." It had been half an hour. _Not that I'm complaining, she reflected. Last time he didn't want to see me. Now I'm dreading having to talk to him. Ahh, how things change._

Jean gave a start as the door opened and Glynn burst in, trailed by Tim McManus and an older woman Jean didn't know. The warden stopped short when he saw her. "Damn. I forgot you were waiting," he said. He retreated behind his desk and collapsed into his chair, gesturing for the other two to take a seat. 

"Dr. Grey," nodded McManus.

"Mr. McManus," said Jean politely. 

"Oh you're Dr. Grey," said the grey-haired woman. "I'm Sister Peter Marie."

"Of course. Nice to meet you, finally."

"Can we get this over with?" asked Glynn curtly as he began massaging his temples. "I assume your visit has something to do with Abel Finnessey, Dr. Gray?"

"In a way," she said cautiously. "Is that the matter that 'required your attention?"

Sister Pete huffed and took a seat to Jean's right. Tim McManus just stood, leaning against a bookshelf. "You could say that," said Glynn. "It's just that some of the prison staff are..." He glanced quickly at Pete. "Concerned..."

"And with good reason!" said the nun sharply. "He's terribly upset and depressed about his sister's death, and it couldn't come at a worse time."

"A worse time?" Jean asked.

Sister Pete turned to address Jean. "You of all people know that mutants always face certain challenges in prison. But the last few months have been especially rocky in terms of inter-prisoner relations. There's a lot of anger toward mutants in general, and since we only have two mutants--."

"That's enough, Pete," Glynn interrupted. "If they were in that much danger, we'd put them in protective custody. Neither of them has asked for protective custody."

"But that doesn't mean they aren't at risk!" Pete insisted. "And now that Abel isn't thinking as clearly as he could be, he's even more vulnerable."

"To be frank, I'm more concerned for my staff right now than for Finnessey," said Glynn. "Dr. Grey, didn't you say that high emotions can cause uncontrolled outbursts of mutant power?"

Jean nodded reluctantly. "But Abel Finnessey is improving a great deal in controlling his abilities. Or he was when we still held classes. In any case, that's not what I came to talk about."

Glynn raised an eyebrow, wearily curious. "What, then?"

"It's about my investigation," she began cautiously. "And about Tae Finnessey's death."

"This must be a real setback for you," said McManus with a touch of bitterness. "I heard she’d decided to testify for you."

_He knew that she was helping me... I wonder who else he told._ "That's not really the point, Mr. McManus," said Jean. "The point is that we think there may be a link between Tae Finnessey's participation in this lawsuit and her murder."

"Excuse me?" said Glynn. 

"There's no reason you or anyone here at Oz should be in danger," said Jean quickly.

"But?" Glynn prompted.

"But we have every reason to believe that this crime was related to the trial. We just wanted to take precautions," said Jean. "I'm just asking those people who I interviewed to be on their guard until we know more about this murder."

Glynn looked at her incredulously. "You mean someone might be murdering the people you talked to?"

"It's a possibility."

"And who all did you talk to in Oz?" asked McManus.

"Well, both of you," said Jean, nodding to Glynn and McManus. "Dr. Nathan, a couple dozen COs, Finnessey himself, and a handful of other inmates. That's all."

"That's a lot of my people to put at risk," said Glynn quietly.

Jean bristled. "I didn't put these people at risk. The person or people who murdered Tae Finnessey put these people at risk. Or maybe not. Maybe nobody here's at risk. I just thought it would be best if I alerted you to the situation."

Glynn was about to snap back when Sister Pete broke in. "And we're glad you have. There's no sense in finger-pointing." She shot the warden a warning look.

"Right," said Glynn. "Is there anything else, Doctor?"

"No," said Jean, rising from her chair. "Thank you for your time." She gave each of the three Oz employees a polite nod before retreating, as quickly as was dignified, out the door. 

McManus waited until the door had clicked shut, then said, "Now, really. What are we going to do to deal with Finnessey?"  
**********

**Oz: Em City**

"Count!" trumpeted Officer Mineo from Em City's guard post.

Finnessey heard Hill pull himself into his wheelchair and roll out the door. He didn't bother to get up; he hadn't left his pod for two days. The guards counted him in his cell; the first time Murphy had tried to get him to come out. No one else was willing to try to argue with a potentially dangerous mutant, even if Murphy hadn't said to let him be. McManus had tried to talk to him, then had sent Sister Pete to lay on the guilt trip: Dr. Nathan missed him in the infirmary, she'd said. Cases were getting backed up. An inmate orderly had delivered the wrong meds to some patients in the AIDS ward, and now so-and-so was in a coma. You should go back, she'd said. Keep busy. He'd ignored her. 

During the day, with most inmates away on their work assignments, Em City was pleasantly quiet, and nothing interrupted Finnessey's litany of self-loathing: _your fault, she's dead, Tae's all you had, and Becca, and Becca, and Becca._ Sometimes, to distract himself from the pain that choked him, he'd stare for hours out into Em City, the magnificent, glass-walled zoo, and observe the animals, his fellow inmates. He did so this morning. 

He kept an eye on the ones that were usually interesting: Adebisi left right away for breakfast duty, followed by some of the Italians. Beecher and Keller, in their pod, got dressed for the day, flinging banter back and forth. Schillinger met up with a tall Aryan--Adler, was it?--and the two left for the cafeteria talking in hushed tones. Cyril, who was usually never far from Landry's side, threw on clothes quickly, not even sparing a glance for his pod-mate, and scampered after a group of Irish who were headed for breakfast. _Interesting_. Finnessey ignored them and turned his attention back to Landry.

After Cyril left, the little mutant stayed in his pod, staring at the mirror for almost a full minute. Then Finnessey watched Landry, in his boxers, casually stroll around the deck and into Schillinger's pod. He only stayed for a moment, but when he came out he headed straight for the showers. _Now what the hell..._ thought Finnessey, for once, in recent memory, more than idly curious. 

He pulled himself out of bed and followed Landry into the showers. _Must have been wrong_ , Finnessey thought at first glance. The room looked deserted. But he listened for a moment, and heard the oh-so-quiet sound of breathing. He carefully, quietly stepped forward, edging around the side of the half-wall that separated the showers from the rest of the room. Landry come into view, sitting with his back to the partition, shank in his right hand, carving delicate lines into his left forearm. 

Suddenly Landry caught sight of Finnessey. He dropped the shank and clamped his right hand over the cuts, turning his head to sneer at the intruder.

"What are you doing?" asked Finnessey calmly.

"Fuck off," Landry growled.

"You do those too?" asked Finnessey, pointing.

Landry looked down at the network of white scars on his belly, then back to his arm. "If you do it right they don't scar. Only scar if he wants to mark you."

"Then what are those for?" Finnessey held up his own arm.

"So I can do something right." Landry's eyes were bright with tears. He tried to laugh, but it came out a sob. 

"Okay, it's okay," said Finnessey, his voice calm, almost clinical. He edged forward. Landry allowed it. "Can I see?"

Landry pulled his hand, slick with blood, away from the cuts. "Look," he said with a maniacal laugh. Finnessey crouched next to him and looked. Six straight lines, each about an inch long, marred the side of Landry's arm. _Shallow,_ noted Finnessey. _And not across the vein. Good._

"Perfect little lines, perfect little lives, perfect order, one following another. Following orders," said Landry frantically. 

"Put your hand back on there," said Finnessey. "Apply pressure." Landry did. "Do you want to go to the infirmary?" 

"Can't," said Landry firmly. "Gotta stay. Work to do."

"Listen. I have to go get a towel from my pod, okay. Don't move. Ben? Got it?"

Landry shook his head. "I need to keep going."

Finnessey quickly picked up the shank and slipped it into his pocket. "Shut up. If you want my help, you stay here and chill out, okay?" Finnessey stood and hesitated for a moment. _Am I okay to leave him here, even for a minute?_

Landry was trembling, hugging his arm to his chest. "Elevate it," said Finnessey impatiently. He grabbed Landry's arm and pulled it up to shoulder level, wrapping his own hand around Landry's to increase the pressure. "Like that, okay? You understand, Ben?"

Landry leaned his head back against the tile and met Finnessey's eyes with a look of such naked pain that Finnessey crouched again to gather the younger man in his arms fiercely, paternally. "I'm going to help you," he said firmly. "Just don't do anything until I get back."

He rose again and checked for blood on his clothes before heading back out into the quad. Em City was mostly deserted, but Finnessey moved casually, confidently across the floor to pod. _Wish I had something helpful. But there's not really a good excuse for keeping gauze in my pod._ He settled on a plain cotton t-shirt and a towel. _Right. He wasn't wearing a shirt. How was he going to hide his arm? Stupid kid._ He grabbed a sweatshirt out of his laundry bag and set off back across the quad. 

"Hey Doc."

Damnit. Finnessey stopped and turned to see Murphy approaching. "Hey Officer."

"Glad to see you out of your pod," said Murphy, stopping right in front of Finnessey. 

"Yeah. Nice to be out," said Finnessey. _Shit. There's a fucking bloody shank in my pocket. Don't notice. Let it be out of sight._ He shifted the bundle of fabric in his hand to shield his left pocket from view. "I thought it was time to take a shower. Hill was complaining."

Murphy laughed companionably. "Sure. Whatever works." Finnessey just smiled vaguely and started to walk away. "Hey Finnessey." Finnessey turned back. "Tell me what really brought you out." 

"I noticed someone in more pain than me," said Finnessey, and headed off to the showers.  
************

**SVU Squad Room, New York City**

Dr. George Hwang sat at Fin's desk. He'd spent most of the previous day in court, and now he was trying to catch up on the progress of the Finnessey case. He'd missed an interview with an important witness, but Benson had left the transcript for him to review while she and Stabler went back out to the crime scene. Tim McManus, the victim's boyfriend, had allegedly sent the investigation in an entirely new direction. Captain Cragan had asked for his opinion of this guy's reliability. He flipped back the cover page of the stapled transcript.

__

_OB: As you can see, we're recording this conversation. We're just going to ask you a few questions about Ms. Finnessey, all right._

_TM: Sure._

_ES: How would you characterize your relationship with Ms. Finnessey?_

_TM: We were dating._

_ES: How long had that been going on?_

_TM: Months. Six or seven months._

_OB: How'd you two meet?_

_TM: At work._

_ES: You work at Oswald State Penitentiary._

_TM: Yes. Tae's brother's an inmate in my cell block._

_ES: So how exactly did your paths cross?_

_TM: She came to meet with me about her brother's [...] condition._

_OB: Condition?_

_TM: He's a mutant._

_ES: A mutant?_

_TM: Yeah._

_OB: And after that you two started seeing each other?_

_TM: That's right._

_ES: Tell us about the last night you saw her._

_TM: Okay. I came over about nine. We had some wine. I left about three._

_OB: This was the night of the twelfth?_

_TM: Yeah._

_ES: Where'd you go after you left?_

_TM: I drove back to Oz._

_OB: In the middle of the night?_

_TM: I had to be to work in the morning._

_ES: Did anyone see you leave?_

_TM: No._

_ES: What time did you arrive at Oz, then?_

_TM: I guess about 6:30._

_ES: And there's some record of that?_

_TM: Sure. I signed in at the gate._

_ES: That night, did you and Ms. Finnessey have sexual intercourse?_

_TM: What does that have to do with anything?_

_OB: Ms. Finnessey was raped._

_TM: The papers didn't say that. Why would they do that?_

_OB: We don't know, Mr. McManus. We're trying to find out. To rule you out as a suspect, we need to know if you two had intercourse._

_TM: I'm a suspect?_

_ES: Only until we rule you out._

_TM: Fine. Yes, we had sex._

_ES: And you used a condom?_

_TM: Yes._

_OB: Did Ms. Finnessey seem upset or anxious?_

_TM: Not that I noticed._

_OB: Had you noticed any change in her behavior in the days before the murder?_

_TM: Well, no. She did have a lot on her mind._

_ES: Such as?_

_TM: Well, the lawsuit._

_OB: What lawsuit?_

_TM: Wait a second. You mean you haven't been...? You don't even know...?_

_OB: Mr. McManus?_

_TM: I just can't believe that you could miss something like this. This is the reason Tae was murdered, and who knows what they hell you people have wasted your time on, if you don't even know-._

_ES: Mr. McManus, just tell us what you know._

_TM: Tae was participating in a lawsuit against the state and some company that manufactures 'behavior management' equipment for use on mutants. Some mutant civil rights group is bringing the lawsuit, but Tae was a pretty important witness. She'd just decided to testify, in fact._

_OB: And you think this lawsuit had something to do with her murder._

_TM: Well this mutant civil rights group certainly does. The woman--what's her  
Name--Dr. Grey--came out to Oz to warn us. She said to exercise caution, since whoever did this might be going after other people involved in the lawsuit._

_ES: Do you know what the group is called?_

_TM: I can't ever remember. Mutant Coalition for Rights, or Mutants United... I have no idea. But this doctor works at the Xavier School down in Westchester County.  
_

 

"George?" Cragan wandered over to where Dr. Hwang sat. "What do you think?"

Hwang flipped through the rest of the interview. "I'd say it's good we talked to him when we did. Who knows when we would have gotten this information."

"So you think he's telling the truth?"

Hwang shrugged. "Sure. He was certainly surprised that we didn't know about this lawsuit. If he'd done it, I think he would have tried deliberately to send us on that track. His mentioning it was more of an accident."

"Well then we better move fast," said Cragan, heading back to his office. "If what he said is true, then more people might be in danger."  
***********

Oz: Cafeteria

Landry didn't come to lunch, and Cyril was glad that he didn't have to see him, didn't have to explain about last night. He sat with the Irish instead, and he saw that they were glad to have him. _They're not my real friends,_ he thought matter-of-factly. _But I bet Ryan told them to keep an eye on me... Ryan..._ He felt a sudden pang of guilt. _I haven't even been thinking of him._ "Do you guys know when Ryan's coming back?" he asked the others.

Timmy Kirk shrugged. "Could be any time now. It's been more than two weeks already."

"I bet that fuck McManus will keep him down there a whole month," said Liam Meaney. "That'd be just like him. For throwing one lousy punch."

"I dunno," said Kirk. "Wanna take bets?" 

Meaney smiled. "Sure. Put me in for the 23rd."

"I say the 19th," piped up Colin Monahan from a couple seats down. The other Irish started taking bets and discussing odds. Cyril was lost. He picked up his tray, emptied it into the garbage, and left the cafeteria. On his way back to Em City, he thought about what he'd say to Ryan when he got back. _He doesn't like Benjamin. How do I make him like Benjamin?_

"Cyril?"

Cyril turned to see Landry lurking in the doorway of a stairwell. "Hey," said Landry. "Can I talk to you?"

Cyril stepped cautiously over to where his pod-mate waited. "Hey."

Landry took a deep breath, and began. "Look, about last night--."

Cyril waved a hand to cut him off. "No, listen, Benjamin. When Ryan comes back.. He'll come back soon. And then we have to do something."

"Right," said Landry, and his hand went to his left arm. "Cyril, listen. I have to tell you something important. See, it's about Schillinger."

Cyril put his hands to his face as the memories welled up again: _laughter, hand in his hair, pain, concrete, hard to breathe, the swastika. The swastika--on Benjamin._ "Stop it," Cyril yelled.

"What's wrong?" Landry tentatively laid a hand on Cyril's shoulder, but Cyril responded with a savage push that sent Landry reeling back into the stairwell door, then to the floor. Cyril turned away and ran for Emerald City without looking back.  
*************


	8. Chapter 8

**Oz: Em City**

Ryan O'Reilly was waiting in the pod when his brother got back from lunch. As Cyril ran in, he turned away from the sink where he'd been washing his face and greeted his brother with open arms. "Cyril."

Cyril blinked in surprise and backed away. "Don't be mad, Ryan."

"I'm not mad," said Ryan firmly. _What's wrong with him? He was upset already?_ "Are you okay?" 

"I'm sorry I pushed you," gushed Cyril. "I'm sorry you had to go away. I didn't mean it."

Ryan embraced his brother. "Forget that. It wasn't your fault." He held Cyril at arm's length and looked at him critically. "Are you sure you're okay? Did that bastard hurt you?"

"Who?" Cyril furrowed his brow.

"Who? Landry, Cyril. Did Landry hurt you?"

"Of course not. He would never hurt me."

"Cyril, listen-."

"No, you listen." Cyril looked pleadingly at his brother. "Ryan, please."

"Fine." Ryan folded his arms impatiently. "I'm listening."

"Don't do anything to him."

"Cyril-."

"I mean it." Cyril looked at his feet, and said softly, "I love him."

"No," said Ryan immediately. He grabbed Cyril's chin and pulled it up to meet his brother's eyes. "Cyril, no. That's not true."

"It is true!" said Cyril seriously.

"No, it's _not_! Sit the fuck down!"

Cyril sat and folded his hands in his lap. "People told you you weren't in love with Gloria, but you said you were. And this is like the same. You don't believe me."

"This isn't the same," said Ryan, and sat down next to his brother. "Landry's trying to hurt you."

Cyril shook his head vehemently. "No. I told you he would never hurt me."

"Bro, he's not what you think." Ryan put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You remember what happened to Beecher a couple years back? When Keller pretended to like him?" Cyril nodded, frowning. "And then Keller hurt Beecher really bad. And Schillinger planned the whole thing. You remember?"

"Yes." Cyril narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "This isn't the same."

"Cyril," Ryan said with a note of warning in his voice. "Trust me. Don't I always take care of you?" Cyril looked away, but he nodded. "I _am_ right about this. Landry is trying to hurt you."

"No," said Cyril weakly. Ryan saw his eyes begin to water, and reached over to hug his brother.

"Don't worry, Cyril. I'll make this right." _I'll kill that fuck_.

"Ryan, promise me," Cyril sniffed into Ryan's shoulder.

"I promise," said Ryan immediately.

"No, I mean promise you won't hurt him." Cyril held pushed his brother away gently to look him in the eye. "Promise."

"I can't promise that, Cyril."

"Yes you can!" Cyril shook Ryan by the shoulder. "Don't hurt him!"

"He hurt you!" Ryan stood. "He's going to keep hurting you, and I won't let him."

" _You're_ going to hurt _him_ , and I won't let you!" Cyril responded, as he stood and started for the door.

"Cyril, no-," Ryan said, exasperated. He grabbed Cyril by the shoulder, but Cyril shrugged him off and stormed out of the pod. Shit. He sat down on the bunk, looking after his brother. _I have to do this, bro. You'll thank me later._

***********

**Oz: Counseling Office**

"You take yours black, right Olivia?" asked Sister Pete. 

From her seat across the room, Detective Benson nodded. "That's right."

Pete poured one mug. "And Elliot, I don't remember."

"Sugar, if you've got it, Sister," Stabler supplied.

A CO rapped on the open door. "Sister?" 

Sister Pete turned and nodded to the officer. "Go ahead and send him in, Jan." Officer Katz inclined his head to the prisoner behind him, and Abel Finnessey strolled in. He took in the sight of two unknown outsiders with only marginal surprise before finding a seat.

"Detectives, this is Abel Finnessey. Abel, this is Detective Benson and Detective Stabler," said Pete, turning away from the coffee pot to make the introductions. 

"Did you know you have blood on your pants?" asked Stabler.

Finnessey looked down at the smear of dried blood at his left hip. "Oh yeah. It's not mine."

Stabler raised an eyebrow. "Whose is it?"

Finnessey just shrugged. Sister Pete swooped in with a coffee mug in either hand, and handed them off to the detectives. Before she sat down, she shot Finnessey a discreet warning glare. He smiled at her. 

"Mr. Finnessey, we're here to talk about your sister," Benson began. 

"I see. So that's why Sister Peter Marie is here. To keep me from freaking out, if you will." Finnessey leaned back in his chair. Sister Pete stared evenly at him. "Well I want to help. I'll do anything I can."

"Some evidence suggests that your sister's murder might have had something to do with a lawsuit you're involved in," said Stabler, breaking out his notepad and pen from a jacket pocket. 

"And?" Finnessey asked.

"We were wondering," Benson said, "if you could remember if your sister mentioned to you specifically anyone who might have been threatening her, or if she had talked to anyone about the lawsuit."

Finnessey stared at the ceiling for a moment. "Tim McManus told me that Tae was raped before she was murdered." 

"That's true," said Benson with a quick glance at her partner.

"You know, my wife was raped and murdered," Finnessey said casually, as if making a simple observation. Sister Pete shifted in her seat. 

"I'm sorry," said Benson.

"Funny, really. Lydia was targeted because she was a prominent mutant activist. I killed the men that did it. That's why I'm in Oz. But if I hadn't, Tae wouldn't have died."

"I don't follow," said Stabler.

"See, Tae was targeted because she was involved in this lawsuit. Because she knows me. If I wasn't here, Tae wouldn't have been involved in any lawsuit, and she wouldn't have been targeted." Finnessey smiled. It wasn't a happy smile. "Did you know that anti-mutant violence isn't a hate crime in New York?"

"You think this was a hate crime?" asked Benson.

"Let's see... A woman is raped and murdered because of her involvement in a pro-mutant lawsuit. A similar thing happened to another woman because of her involvement in the mutant rights movement. Once they're dead, they can't ask you not to test their DNA, so you know both women were mutants. They were killed because they were mutants. That's a hate crime. That's a pattern of hate crimes."

"But the men who murdered your wife are dead, Mr. Finnessey. They couldn't have murdered your sister," said Stabler.

"No, I guess not," said Finnessey. He leaned forward in his chair and leveled his gaze on Stabler. "You know, I thought afterwards, after I'd killed those guys, that it was really for the best. That it wouldn't happen again, because I'd stopped them. But it didn't help. And it didn't bring Lydia back." He looked at Sister Pete, who was watching him anxiously. "Sorry, Sister, that's not remorse. That's anger."

"Mr. Finnessey, do you have any theories about who might have wanted your sister dead?" Benson broke in. 

"Detective, I wasn't that much a part of Tae's life. If you've talked to McManus, you've gotten as close as you're going to get."

"What about your little girl?" Sister Pete said suddenly. Finnessey looked quizzically at her. "Didn't Tae take care of your daughter? Maybe she would know something."

Stabler shook his head. "We tried to interview her, but she wouldn't talk. Babysitter says that she never talks."

Finnessey laughed briefly. "What do you mean she never talks? Becca started talking before she was a year old. Quiet time was like torture for her."

"The babysitter said she's never talked all the time she's known her," said Benson slowly. "You mean she can talk?"

Finnessey grew serious again. "Of course she can talk."

"When's the last time you saw her?" asked Stabler.

"At my sentencing. I'm not allowed to see her," said Finnessey. "What do you mean she doesn't talk?"

Benson and Stabler exchanged a look of concern. "Mr. Finnessey, if we arranged for you to see her, would you be willing to ask her if she knows anything about who might have murdered your sister?" asked Stabler at last.

Finnessey looked to Sister Pete, then said, "It's not that I don't want to see her. I'd love to see her. It's just... I'm not sure if that would be a good idea, detective. I mean, I'm not part of her life. She's gone through some difficult times, and I can't say that seeing me would do her any good."

"I think it's always good for a kid to see her father," said Stabler. "And if it could shed some light on what happened to your sister, it would be worth it."

Finnessey looked at his hands for a moment, considering. Then he nodded. "All right. If you can arrange a meeting, I'll see what I can do."  
************

**Oz: The Gym**

Schillinger was in the middle of a round of bench-presses when Adler strolled up, grinning. "Hey Vern, guess what?"

"George Lincoln Rockwell's risen from the dead?" asked Schillinger as he strained to push the weight up.

"No."

"Then what, Aaron?" Schillinger asked with a touch of impatience. 

Adler kept smiling. "Everybody's favorite Mick is out of the Hole."

Schillinger set the weight back on the bar and sat up. "When?"

"Just after lunch."

"Wonderful," Schillinger grabbed his shirt from the bench and pulled it back on. "So any fireworks yet?"

"Not yet. But then, he hasn't seen little Benny."

Schillinger clapped Adler on the shoulder and started toward the exit. "Come on. Let's go get a good seat."  
**********

**Oz: Em City**

"I just worry that something's going to happen to you," Keller said, moving to block the door of the pod.

Beecher glared at Keller and folded his arms across his chest. "Are we really having this conversation again?" he asked. 

"Toby. Please."

"Please what? Don't treat me like a child, Chris."

Keller shrugged, unabashed. "What about in the gym the other day? What if I hadn't been there?"

"I'm not afraid of Timmy fucking Kirk," snapped Beecher.

"That's not the issue here. I know you and O'Reilly have been friendly in the past, but that Mick fuck doesn't care about anyone except his own blood. I'm just saying, you're putting yourself in danger by defending Landry from the Irish."

"So I should just do nothing?" Beecher began pacing. "Just let Schillinger's little plan play out?"

"I don't know, Toby."

Beecher stopped in front of Keller, jaw set determinedly as he met Keller’s eyes. "I'm going to find him. Let me out." 

Keller didn't move. "What are you going to do if you find him? Follow him around? If O'Reilly wants to hurt him, he'll find a way."

"Then I have to talk to O'Reilly, change his mind." Beecher leaned his forehead against the wall next to the door.

"How?" asked Keller, turning to gaze out into the quad, side-by-side with his  
lover.

Beecher pushed himself away from the wall angrily. "How the fuck do I know!"

"Calm down. Just... Come here." Keller wrapped his arms around Beecher and held him gently, as if he were made of glass. "You're not a fucking army, Toby. You have to be careful. I've only got one of you."

Beecher relaxed a little in Keller's arms until Mineo came by and gave the glass wall of their pod a warning smack with his baton. Keller held up his hands, and Beecher backed up a step. Mineo nodded and moved on.

Keller waited half a moment, watching Mineo walk away, then draped his hands around Beecher's shoulders. "I told you that we'll handle this together, and we will. But we've got to handle it smart. Now, use your big Harvard-educated brain. Think. What can we do?"

"What can we do?" Beecher echoed. "What can anyone do?"

**********

**The Rusty Nail Tavern**

Tim McManus threw another dart. He scowled as it hit the edge of the target. "Damn."

Sean Murphy stepped up to the toe line. "No, see, the secret is the quality of your aim is directly proportional to how much beer you've consumed." To demonstrate, he took a swig before throwing his own dart. It landed in the double ring of the twenty wedge. "See?"

"Yeah. Irish luck. That's what that is," complained McManus.

"Bullshit. Compared to some Irish, I got nothing. I'm thinking of a certain Irishman we both know who always lands on his feet." Murphy knocked back the rest of his mug of beer. "And wasn't I just thrilled to see him back today?"

McManus, who had been lining up another shot, threw his dart wide, and it sank into the wood paneling far left of the target. He whirled around to face Murphy. "What? I was supposed to be notified before O'Reilly came back to Em City!"

"They brought him back today," Murphy shrugged. "I assumed you knew."

"Shit. Damnit." McManus massaged his forehead.

"Do you wanna go back?"

"No. I guess not. What pod did you put him in?"

"I put him back with his brother."

"And what'd you do with Landry?" McManus asked. 

"I reassigned him to Schillinger's pod."

"Oh fuck." McManus grabbed his beer and drank.

"What?" Murphy asked, concerned. "Tim, you were in meetings all day. I had to do it without you. I didn't know it was going to be such a big deal. Are you sure you don't wanna go back?"

"Yes. Wait, no. No," McManus said firmly. "Life will go on without me."

"Right. That's the stuff, Tim." Murphy took the empty mug from his friend's hand. "You can fix it in the morning, whatever happens."

"Yeah, I hope so."

"I'll get us another round. Thank God for happy hour."  
**********

**Oz: Cafeteria**

O'Reilly carefully shut and locked the door of the back storeroom and slowly turned around. Landry was on his knees, a trickle of blood slowly rolling down his chin, hands tied behind his back with Saran wrap. O'Reilly leaned lazily against the door.

"So, Benny Boy. What have you got to say for yourself?"

"Nothing I say is going to make any difference," said Landry thickly.

O'Reilly smiled. "Well, that's true." He gracefully pushed himself away from the door and ambled over to his kneeling victim. "But I would like to know about Operation Little Brother. So talk."

Landry cocked his head to one side and smiled innocently. "Why, Mr. O'Reilly, whatever do you mean?"

"Cute. I can see how Cyril could get to like you." O'Reilly had never been much a fighter; he'd left that to Cyril, or to whoever he could manipulate to do his bidding. There were some things he needed to do for himself, however, and when necessary he knew how to use his lanky form to full effect. With a swift jerk he ran his knee into Landry's chin, sending his head back with a violent snap. For a moment there was no sound except Landry's labored breathing as the bound man struggled to pull himself back up to a sitting position. 

Landry turned his head to spit a mouthful of blood. "Come on, Irish. Come on and kill me. Put me out of my fucking misery."

"Oh I will," O'Reilly said, wiping the smile off his face.

Landry laughed in an ugly way, like the sound of nails on a chalkboard, or screeching tires. Then he caught and held O'Reilly's glance, freezing O'Reilly's green eyes with his serious brown ones. "Don't tell Cyril you did it, though. Tell him Schillinger killed me. That way he'll still have you."

O'Reilly narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"It'll make Cyril really sad if he knows it was you. So lie to him." 

O'Reilly's voice was soft, dangerous. "I don't need you to tell me how to deal with my brother."

"No," said Landry, turning up a corner of his mouth in a wry smile. "I guess you do fine on your own."

"What the hell do you mean by that?" 

"Just that he didn't seem to miss you too much while you were gone."

"No? Maybe because he was too busy getting raped."

Landry laughed again, this time with a hysterical edge. "If you can consider what goes on in that pod me raping Cyril, then you've got a better imagination than me, Irish. And not just because Cyril loves me." Landry adopted an expression of mock-seriousness. "I mean, gosh Mr. O'Reilly, I guess I got him all hard against his will, then forced him to let me suck him off, and then made him fuck me in the ass. Jesus Christ, how could I force Cyril to do any of that shit?"

O'Reilly's head was cocked strangely to the side, as if he'd stopped in the middle of moving and forgotten what he was doing. Ryan's mental image of a frightened Cyril on his knees before Landry was replaced with a quite different image: Cyril's face contorted with joy as he found release. "So you didn't fuck him?" he asked, almost despite himself.

Landry shook his head in disbelief. "Shit, O'Reilly, do I look like a top to you? I didn't rape your brother."

O'Reilly recovered. _So he didn't fuck him. But that doesn't mean he didn't do anything wrong._ "You manipulated, you coerced him, you made him want you. Just like fucking Keller and Beecher. Schillinjer planned this, didn't he?" O'Reilly grabbed Landry by the front of his sweatshirt and pulled him to his feet. "Didn't he!"

"Yes," said Landry. O'Reilly let him go and turned away with a dismissive wave of his hand. Landry took a step after him. "But I would never hurt Cyril. I promise you, sir, I didn't know what they were going to do."

"What the fuck do you mean?" O'Reilly said, turning back around to get in Landry's face. "What were they going to do, Benny boy?"

"I overheard them saying they wanted you to kill me. Get so mad you'd kill me and end up on death row. Looks like Mr. Schillinger gets his wish after all."

"And you were just, what, supposed to let me kill you?"

"Well he forgot to mention that part to me, I guess."

O'Reilly paced over to the door and back. _Schillinger meant to dispose of him after this. So how can I use that? If he ratted out Schillinger for raping him--fuck, that's probably even child abuse or some shit. I bet that'd be enough to get that Nazi fuck thrown into solitary. The kid won't be ready to do that yet, but he will be... That could work._ He stopped several feet away from Landry, facing the wall. "You didn't rape Cyril."

"I told you I didn't."

"Everyone knows I said I'd kill you."

"Yeah."

O'Reilly turned to face Landry. "If you double cross me I will."

"That's fair."

"If you want to live, you'd better do everything I fucking say."

"Okay." Landry took a quick breath. "But I won't stop."

"What?"

"Being with Cyril. We won't stop."

It was O'Reilly's turn to laugh. "What the fuck are you talking about? It's over. You're never touching Cyril again. He doesn't love you, he doesn't want you, and rule number one of our little deal is that you stay the fuck away from him."

"Ryan, please," Landry took a step toward O'Reilly, eyes wide and pleading. "Just ask him. If he says he doesn't want me, then I promise I'll stay away, but if he does, then you've got to let me."

"I don't got to do shit, you Cajun come-dumpster." But the wheels were turning. Cyril loved fiercely, possessively, like a dog with a bone. _The fucking bouncy ball he had when he first got here: he loved that thing. And in tenth grade when he beat Kyle Mahoney nearly to death for trying to kiss his girlfriend. So if he does really want Landry, I can't take him away... not yet. But when he's done with a thing he can let it go. Shit, Moira cried for weeks when he dumped her, but he wouldn't even answer her calls. So if he's done, I know Cyril can let go. Even when he's... like this... he's gotta still be able to do that._

Landry waited, breathing shallowly. He watched O'Reilly's eyes narrow as he thought it through. "Fine. We'll see," Ryan said at last. He took a shank from his pocket and cut the Saran wrap from Landry's wrists, then started towards the door.

"Sir," Landry said softly. "About Schillinger... what do you want me-?"

"You keep doing like you always do for now," said O'Reilly, without turning back. "I'll take care of the rest."

*********

**Oz: Em City**

Schillinger watched the dim reflection in the glass with annoyance. Landry was sitting on the bottom bunk, bundled up in an oversized sweatshirt and wrapped in a blanket, hugging his knees to his chest and staring into space. Schillinger had ignored him since evening count, and the little prag had responded by sitting catatonically on his bunk. _Little shit. Well, he's not going to be my problem much longer._

"Prag."

Landry unfolded himself and stood by the bunks, still clutching his blanket around him. "Yes, sir?"

"Strip."

Landry let the blanket drop to the floor, discarded his clothes with practiced efficiency and stood passively in the middle of the pod, hands at his sides. Schillinger moved to sit at the edge of his bunk and examine his property. He frowned when he saw that Landry's left arm was neatly wound with gauze from wrist to elbow. "What the fuck is that?" he asked.

Landry fidgeted. "Ryan O'Reilly got out of the hole today."

"I know. So what?"

"Mr. Schillinger, he was so mad." Landry's eyes began to fill with tears. "You know he said he'd kill me."

"Yeah, he did," said Schillinger mock-thoughtfully. "But you're still here. So what happened?"

"Before dinner, I was in the cafeteria. Dr. Nathan wanted me to order a special meal for some patient from Unit C. No salt. But two Irish guys were there--the ones that wanted to kill me in the gym last week--and they grabbed me and tied up my hands and took me into this store room."

"Which guys, prag?"

Landry hung his head. "I don't know their names. One of them was that redhead."

"Timmy Kirk."

"Maybe. I don't know."

"Fine. Then what?"

"O'Reilly was there. He said some stuff: about having warned me and shit. And he cut me." Landry held up his bandaged arm. "But he just wanted to hurt me, I guess, not kill me."

"And why the fuck was that, prag?"

"Well, he told the other two to leave. And he told me he'd think about not killing me if..."

Schillinger smiled slowly, beginning to understand. "If what, prag. Say it."

"He said... 'If you're really as sweet as Cyril says.' And then he..." Landry hugged his arms to his chest, and Schillinger saw tears shining on his cheeks.

"Say it."

"He fucked me," Landry said softly. 

Schillinger put on a sympathetic face. He gestured for Landry to come closer until he could rest a hand on his head and stroke his hair. "Did it hurt?" he asked. Landry nodded. "Good." Schillinger grabbed a handful of hair and pulled his prag closer. Landry yelped in surprise. "Did I say you could fuck Ryan O'Reilly?"

Landry's eyes widened in alarm as he shook his head frantically. "Sir, I couldn't-."

"Shut up," said Schillinger firmly. Landry did. "Now. In my trunk, on top, there's a pair of jeans. Bring me what's in the pocket." Landry went to Schillinger's footlocker and dug in the pockets of the jeans until his hand grasped something: a square packet. He gave it to Schillinger. "Things are different now, Benny Boy." Schillinger ripped the packet open and held up the condom from inside. "Now that you're fucking the O'Reilly brothers and who knows how many of the other fucks in here, you can't be my prag." He pulled his dick out of his boxers and rolled the condom over it. "You're just a piece of meat, up for grabs to anyone in this shithole. Now suck my cock."

Landry stood still, brow furrowed in confusion. "Sir, what do you mean--?"

Schillinger held up a hand. "Shut. Up. Don't talk to me. Just do your job, bitch." He slid back to prop himself up against the glass wall, and looked at Landry expectantly. 

Landry stared at Schillinger, clenching and unclenching his fists as he watched the Aryan smile scornfully. "I'm waiting," crooned Schillinger.

Landry climbed up on the bed next to Schillinger and knelt beside him. "Sir, may I please suck your cock?" he said flatly. 

"Ask nicely," replied Schillinger.

Landry locked eyes with Schillinger, and for a moment the Aryan caught a glimpse of fire and anger behind the dull shine. Then Landry ducked his head quickly to deliver a violent kiss. Surprised, Schillinger opened his mouth to admit Landry's tongue. After a moment, Landry pulled back, lowering his lashes coyly, and said "Please sir, will you let me suck your cock?"

"Well, sugar, when you ask so nice... I guess I'll allow it," Schillinger managed, though he noted his heart rate had kicked up several notches, and his cock was already beginning to swell.

Landry lowered his head to gently lick Schillinger's growing erection. Abruptly he pulled back and spat to the side. Schillinger laughed. "Awww, poor baby. Have you never had safe sex before?" He tangled his fingers in Landry's hair. "I know spermicide doesn't taste as good as my come, but you'll just have to deal. And remember that if you weren't such a dirty little slut, we wouldn't have to take these precautions." 

With a deceptively gentle push, Schillinger guided Landry's head back to his lap. Steeling himself for the inevitable, Landry wrapped his lips around the tip of Schillinger's cock and sucked. He ran his tongue firmly down the sensitive underside all the way to his ass and back. He snuck one hand between Schillinger's legs to gently play with his balls. He used every trick he knew his Aryan master loved, and soon Schillinger was panting, head thrown back against the glass, riding the edge. 

Seeing that he was close, Landry slowly slid forward, expertly swallowing 

Schillinger's cock to the root. Schillinger once more buried his hands in Landry's hair. When Landry tried to pull back for a breath, Schillinger held on firmly, keeping his dick sheathed to the hilt in his former prag's mouth. Nose buried in Schillinger's crotch, Landry fought for air and couldn't get enough. He began to struggle, arms batting weakly against Schillinger's legs. His throat worked convulsively as his gag reflex kicked in. 

Suddenly it was over. Schillinger released him, and Landry pulled away, curling up on his side and coughing, fighting for air. 

"Gosh," said Schillinger after a moment. "I guess I see why O'Reilly let you live. That was okay, sugar." He peeled off the used condom and set it gently in Landry's hand. "You can have that as a memento. Now get off my bed." He shoved Landry abruptly with his foot.

Landry slid off the bunk, but landed, cat-like, on his hands and feet. He stayed that way for a moment, then slowly stood up and dropped the condom onto the floor. "Oh, one more thing," said Schillinger from his bunk. "Get your blanket." Wearily, Landry picked up the blanket from where it lay on the floor, and waited for instructions. "Now put it in the sink, sugar." 

"What?" said Landry, confused rather than defiant.

"Get it wet, stupid."

Landry turned on the tap and held his blanket under the flow, a little at a time, until the whole thing was soaking and dripping on the floor. "Fine," said Schillinger. "Now go to bed."

Landry reached down to pick up his clothes, but Schillinger was down from the bed and beside him in a second. "Did I say to get dressed?" Landry shook his head automatically. "No, right. So get in bed."

Landry shuffled over to his bunk, still holding the sopping blanket, and sat down. Schillinger followed him, folding his arms over his chest. Not knowing what else to do, Landry laid back. Schillinger grabbed the blanket from him and spread it out, neatly tucking in his pod-mate. "Sweet dreams, sugar," he said, and kissed Landry on the forehead before pulling himself back onto his own bunk. 

Landry turned on his side and curled up into the fetal position, trying to conserve his body heat. Abruptly he ran one hand down his back to the place he knew bore the tattoo of the Iron Cross and swastika, the mark branding him Schillinger's property. He began to shiver. _Okay,_ thought Landry. _I'm done_.  
*********


	9. Chapter 9

**Oz: Em City**

The lights clicked on throughout Em City, bathing the place in ugly fluorescence. "Count!" trumpeted Bradley from the guard station. 

Prisoners spilled out of their pods, pulling on clothes, talking to friends and jeering at enemies as they lined up. Landry pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt before staggering out to line up next to Schillinger. 

"05L916, Landry, Benjamin," read Murphy. _Well, he's alive. Tim must have been worrying over--._ Murphy happened to glance up and notice Landry's face. He was pale, terribly pale, and his skin shone with sweat. He was hugging himself as if holding on for dear life. When Murphy looked a little closer, he could see the kid was shaking. "Hey Landry. What the hell's wrong with you?"

"I'm cold, sir," chattered Landry. 

Murphy looked accusingly at Schillinger.

"Guess he's sick. Doesn't look too good," said Schillinger casually.

"Fine. Whatever. I'm taking him to the infirmary. Mike?" Murphy gestured for Bradley to come and take over count. He took Landry by the arm and steered him gently toward the contact gate. Bradley looked at the clipboard and started where Murphy had left off.

"92S110, Schillinger."  
********

**Oz: Children's Visiting Room**

Finnessey sat nervously tapping his fingers on a kid-sized table. Dr. Hwang sat at next to him, clipboard and pen in hand. "Remember," he was saying, "she may look and act different than you remember. Don't be surprised if she doesn't talk at first, or if she doesn't talk at all. It may take her a number of sessions to feel comfortable with you."

Finnessey didn't answer; he kept his eyes window that opened onto the hallway. "Now, Detective Stabler will be asking the questions," Hwang continued. "I'm just here to look after Becca, and I'll stop the session if it looks like she's getting upset, all right?" Just then Officer Holtz appeared, followed by Detective Stabler. Holtz opened the door for Stabler, who was holding a little, blond girl by the hand. 

With a squeal of delight, the child broke away from Stabler and ran to jump into  
Finnessey's arms. "Daddy!"

Finnessey held her tightly and planted a kiss on her head. "Hey precious. I've missed you!"

Hwang gave Stabler an incredulous stare that said, "Well that was ridiculously easy." Stabler shrugged. As far as fathers and their daughters were concerned, nothing surprised him. 

"How's my girl?" Finnessey asked once Becca had released him.

Her face fell a little. "I miss Auntae."

"Aunt Tae? Yeah, I miss her too, honey."

Becca crawled into Finnessey's lap and leaned against his chest. "What happened to her?" she asked softly.

"Well." Finnessey looked to Hwang, who only raised his eyebrows. "Some bad people hurt her."

"She's dead, isn't she." It wasn't really a question.

"Yes, Becca. She died."

"Like Mommy. Daddy, why'd she have to die?"

"Well, honey, that's what this nice man wants to find out. He needs to ask you some questions."

"Oh." Becca sat up straighter and looked at Stabler suspiciously.

"Can you answer his questions? I'll be right here the whole time."

"Okay." Finnessey gave Becca's shoulder an affectionate squeeze, and then nodded to Stabler.

"Becca, did you ever hear anyone saying angry words to your Aunt?" Stabler began. Becca shook her head. "Did your Aunt ever say angry words? On the phone, maybe?"

The girl thought about it for a moment, then looked to her father. "It's okay, honey. You can tell him," he said encouragingly.

"One day at Uncle Joey's, this man and this woman were talking to Auntae. And she got angry and yelled and we left."

"Okay. Where's your Uncle Joey's?" asked Stabler.

"We eat there, sometimes. It's where Mindy works."

"Okay. Did you know the man and woman?"

"No."

"But your Aunt knew them." Becca shrugged. 

"Bec, what were their names?" asked Finnessey.

Stabler looked doubtfully at the inmate, but Becca said proudly, "Scott and Jean. Jean and Scott." 

Finnessey smiled knowingly. "Good girl. Hey, what's his name?" he asked, nodding at Stabler. 

"His name is Elliot, and his name is George," she said, looking at Hwang. "But I've already got a George, so he doesn't count."

Finnessey planted another kiss on the top of his daughter's head. "Becca collects  
names," he explained. "Just because she doesn't talk doesn't mean she doesn't listen, right Bec?" She beamed up at him.

"Okay," said Stabler. "So do you remember what Jean and Scott talked about?" Becca nodded. "Can you tell me?"

"Auntae told them that I wasn't allowed to see Daddy because Mr. Law said so,  
and they said they wanted to help." Becca lowered her voice to a whisper. "And then  
Auntae said a swear."

"Do you know why your Aunt was angry?"

Becca thought for a moment. "Maybe because I tried to eat a toothpick."

Finnessey gently took his daughter's hand. "No, honey, I don't think that was it," he said.  
*********

**Oz: Em City**

McManus stared out his office window at the business of the quad: his inmates watching TV, playing checkers, holding councils with their gangs. When Murphy knocked on the door, he called, "Come in," without turning around. 

Murphy ushered in Ryan and Cyril O'Reilly, then closed the door and stood against it. "What now, McManus?" Ryan asked impatiently as he sat and nodded to his brother to do the same.

"I've got a question for Cyril, actually," said McManus, plopping down in his desk chair. "So I'd appreciate it if you'd let him give me an honest answer."

Ryan narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. Cyril looked attentive.

"Cyril, I want you to tell me who you would rather have as a pod mate: your brother Ryan, or Benjamin Landry," McManus said.

"What the fuck? Of course he wants me," said Ryan.

"Shut up," said Murphy.

Ryan turned to look at Cyril expectantly. Cyril sank back in his chair, unsure.

"Cyril?" McManus prompted.

"I don't know," said Cyril softly.

"Cyril! Come on bro, what the hell?" Ryan shouted incredulously. Suddenly he thought of his talk with Landry in the store room. _"Just ask him." Shit, Cyril's not ready to let go yet._

"Where would Ryan go if Benjamin was in my pod?" Cyril asked.

McManus consulted a piece of paper on his desk. "I could put him with Timmy Kirk."

Cyril turned to his brother for guidance, but Ryan just folded his arms over his chest and fixed him with the patented O'Reilly stare-down. Cyril looked to Murphy, then McManus, then back to Ryan before speaking. "I think Benjamin would want to be with me and not have to stay with Schillinjer," he said, eyes fixed on the floor.

"Okay," said McManus. "Done. I'll tell Landry. Ryan, pack your stuff." 

Without a word, Ryan stood. Murphy opened the door and stood aside as Ryan swept out of the room with Cyril trotting behind. 

"Ryan, wait up," Cyril said as Ryan charged down the stairs from McManus' office. "Don't be mad," he hissed. 

Ryan slowed his steps so his brother could catch up. _I should have seen this one coming. Landry as much as told me he could make this happen_. "I'm not mad," he said flatly as the two of them headed for their pod. 

"Yes you are. Don't be mad."

Ryan opened the door to the pod and gestured Cyril inside. He closed the door before asking, "Why do you want to share a pod with Landry?"

"He's my friend," Cyril said defensively.

"You're fucking him," said Ryan bluntly.

Cyril blushed. "Is that wrong?"

Ryan pinned Cyril with a serious stare. "Has he ever done anything to you that you didn't want to do?"

"No," said Cyril firmly. "He's not like that."

"Listen." Ryan grabbed Cyril's shoulders and stood nose-to-nose with him. "Do not _ever_ let him do anything you don't want, okay? I will always be around keeping an eye on you. And as soon as you're ready, I'll move in with you again."

"But if you moved in with me, where would Benjamin go?"

"Cyril, you know people come and go all the time in Em City," Ryan said as he began to throw his stuff into his laundry bag viciously. "Where's Kenny Wangler? Where's Officer Whittelsey? Where's Peter Shibetta? Where's Miguel Alvarez?"

"I don't want Benjamin to go away," said Cyril. He sat on the edge of his bunk to watch his brother pack. "I like Benjamin."

Ryan turned around. "Do you love him?"

"I told you I do," Cyril said, blushing.

"Do you love me?"

"That's different," said Cyril at once.

"Yeah." Ryan stood and hefted his bag. "But Cyril, think about it. If you had to choose between me and him, between your brother and some mutant prag, what would you do?" With that, Ryan walked out of the pod, leaving Cyril alone.  
*********

**Oz: Infirmary**

"Hey Doctor Nathan!" Gloria Nathan walked over to the bed where Benjamin Landry was cocooned in blankets. "I feel fine. Can I go now?" he asked eagerly.

"No. Not until I'm sure you're body temperature is stable. How did you get so cold just sitting in your cell, anyway?"

"I don't know. But I feel fine. Can I go to lunch?"

Dr. Nathan put her hands on her hips. "If you tell me what happened to lower your body temperature four degrees." 

"I don't know," Landry repeated half-heartedly.

"Fine. Then you stay," she said, and walked away.

Landry lay back down and pulled the blankets more tightly around him. He had almost dropped off to sleep when Tim McManus appeared at his bedside. "Hey, Benjamin. What happened?"

Landry shrugged. "I guess I'm sick," he said. 

"I've got some news for you. Cyril O'Reilly's requested that you move back into his pod. So once Dr. Nathan says it's okay for you to go back to Em City, you'll bunk with Cyril."

"McManus, I'm all better," Landry said firmly, and pushed himself into a sitting position. "Will you ask Dr. Nathan if I can leave?" 

McManus narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "She said that you won't tell her what caused this."

"How am I supposed to know? She's the doctor," Landry complained. "I must have caught some bug."

"Whatever you say kid," said McManus with a dismissive shake of his head.

Landry watched him walk away; then he began to take close stock of his surroundings. There were three other inmates in the ward. Two of them were dozing, and the third, secured to the bed by leather straps, was staring at the ceiling. Landry couldn't tell if he was catatonic or just deep in thought. Through the glass panel on the door, Landry could see a CO standing with his back to him, talking to a nurse. 

Quickly and quietly Landry slipped out of his bed and crept over to the row of cabinets that lined the far wall of the infirmary. The first drawer he tried was locked, the second had gauze and bandages, and the third held boxes of latex gloves. He looked over his shoulder and saw the CO still engrossed in conversation. 

"Psst, hey," came a soft voice from one of the beds. Landry turned to see that the inmate who hadn't been asleep was now staring at him. "Watcha doing?"

"I'm looking for something. Shut the fuck up," Landry hissed, and began opening cabinets. 

"Tell me what you're looking for," said the bed-bound man. "I can help."

"I need a fucking shank, okay," Landry said softly. "A scalpel or something." The cabinets didn't have what he needed. He shut the doors quietly.

"They don't leave that shit lying around where one of us could pick it up, man. Try Dr. Nathan's office."

Landry eased open the cage-like door of Dr. Nathan's office and spotted an open box of surgical tools on a shelf. He grabbed the first sharp tool that came to hand and slipped back into the ward. 

"Hey, you get it?" asked the other inmate. Landry shook his head. "Well, at least bring me some tits while you're up."

The door to the ward swung open and the voices of the CO and a nurse floated in. Landry fled to his bed and burrowed under the covers just as the CO finally turned and ushered in Ryan O'Reilly pushing the cart of lunch trays. 

Landry deftly reached down the side of his bed and slipped the shank under the mattress while the CO watched O'Reilly serve the other three inmates. When O'Reilly brought him his tray, he said, "I made this special just for you. Cyril wants to be roomies with you, fine. You just be careful. Have a nice day." Then he was gone, followed by the CO, and Landry pulled his blankets tight around him, unable to sleep.

***********

**SVU Squad Room, New York City**

"All right, let's go over this again," Fin said patiently. "Tae Finnessey called you on the afternoon of the nineteenth."

Jean Grey nodded. "Yes."

"What time was that?" Munch asked.

"I think about four."

Fin raised an eyebrow. "You think?" 

"Yes. Maybe four-thirty."

"Was it four or four-thirty?" Munch pressed.

"I don't remember."

"What did you do after that?" Fin asked.

"After she called?"

"Yeah."

"I wrote down the appointment in my date book." Jean thought for a moment. "I went out to dinner."

"Can anyone verify that?" Munch asked.

"Sure. My boyfriend."

"Who has access to your date book?" asked Fin.

"I suppose anyone who can get into my office, which would be any of the faculty at the school."

Munch leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "What do the rest of the faculty think of this lawsuit you're working on?"

"They're all very supportive."

"Uh huh," said Fin skeptically. "Let's talk about your first meeting with Tae. It didn't go well, right?"

"I told you. She seemed pretty hostile about testifying."

"How'd you feel about that?" Munch asked.

"Frustrated. I knew that she'd be an important witness if she agreed to testify."

"So who'd you tell about this frustration?" Fin wanted to know.

"Scott and I talked on the way home. And I guess I told Professor Xavier about the meeting. But I understood Tae's position. It's not as if I was bitter towards her for not wanting to help."

"No?" Munch asked doubtfully.

"No," Jean said calmly. "I've been working for mutants rights a long time, Detectives, and I know that people have different comfort levels when it comes to supporting controversial issues. It's not shocking to me that someone would be scared of reprisal for helping a pro-mutant organization."

"Have you or your organization received any threats regarding this lawsuit?" Munch asked as he flipped to a new page of his notepad.

"I'm not really sure," said Jean. "Frankly, we got a lot of threats. Phone calls, e-mails, letters. I don't bother reading them."

"We're going to need everything you've kept. Letters, e-mail, and voice mail," Fin said. 

"Sure. I'll round up what we've got," said Jean. "Anything I can do to help."  
********

**Oz: Counseling Office**

"But where did he get the knife?" McManus asked as he and Gloria Nathan walked into Sister Pete's office.

"He must have taken it from my office while the CO was out of the room," Gloria said, shaking her head.

"This doesn't sound good" Pete said with a sigh. She set down the report she was reading and took off her glasses.

"Benjamin Landry cut himself," said McManus; he flopped down in the nearest chair.

"Is he hurt?" Pete asked.

"It's not that bad; it's just worrisome. He didn't slice himself like Miguel Alvarez, he scraped off some skin on his back," Gloria explained.

Pete narrowed her eyes. "Why?" 

"He wouldn't say," McManus grumbled.

"He also has cuts on his arm that are healing," Gloria put in. "I think those were self-inflicted too. I don't know if he's done it before, but it looks like a pattern of self harm."

"So what are our plans?" The nun began digging through a drawer of her desk and came out with a case file. "I'm not scheduled to see him until Friday, but I'd like to see him as soon as possible."

"I think we should transfer him to the metal ward," McManus said. "He's a danger to himself."

"Maybe," Pete said. "But that doesn't mean he's crazy, Tim."

"Here's what I think," said Gloria. "I think he needs to go back to Em City as soon as possible. I think he needs to be around the other inmates he looks to for guidance."

"You mean Schillinger?" asked McManus sharply.

"No, of course not," Gloria replied just as sharply.

"He has other friends, you know," Pete broke in. "Abel Finnessey, and Tobias Beecher and even Cyril O'Reilly."

"Besides," said Gloria, "I don't think he's with Schillinger anymore."

"And why's that?" McManus asked curiously.

"Didn't you say he had a tattoo?" Gloria asked.

"Yeah."

"Where?"

"On his back...," said McManus. "Wait, is that what he-?"

"Yes. I think he cut off the skin to remove the Aryan tattoo."

"Why do these things always happen with the prisoners who are high-profile?" McManus asked. "Landry's supposed to talk to some ADA tomorrow. Will he be alright by then?"

"Well I don't have to keep him in the infirmary. I've already bandaged the wound, and he just needs to come in to have it cleaned," said Gloria. "And like I said, I'd sooner see him back in Em City."

"Pete, do you think we can trust him to not hurt himself anymore?" McManus asked, turning to the nun.

"Let me see him before you send him back, and if I think it's not a good idea, I'll  
let you know."

"Okay. We'll give him another chance. But tell him that if he hurts himself again, he's going to the psych ward."  
***********

**Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters**

"Hey Jean," Scott said as he entered her office. "How was-." He stopped short at the sight of boxes and boxes of paper stacked around Jean's desk. "What's all this?"

She looked up wearily. "Hate mail. I wanted to go through it before I handed it over to the police, in case I notice anything that might help."

"Sounds depressing. Need any help?"

"You're a prince," Jean said with a tired smile. She gestured to a box. "Do you want to tackle the e-mail print-outs?"

"Sure," said Scott. He picked up the box and carried it over to a comfortable arm chair. "What exactly am I looking for?"

"Well... I'm not sure. Anything that mentions the lawsuit, or anything related to  
the lawsuit, and any specific threats of violence."

"Okay." Scott picked a piece of paper from his box at random and began to read.  
After a moment he stopped and watched Jean. "You don't need to torture yourself like this," he said finally.

"I'm not torturing myself." Jean glanced away from her reading just long enough to glare at him. "I feel like I owe it to Tae Finnessey to do whatever I can to catch her killer."

"The police will do it, Jean. I'm sure Miss Finnessey wouldn't have wanted you to work yourself into the ground like this."

"Well whatever she would have wanted is irrelevant, because she's dead," Jean said flatly. "She'll never want anything again." She let the paper she'd been reading drop onto the desk and stared at it. "She'll never order her regular meal at that diner. She won't be around to see her niece grow up."

Scott made a move to get up, but Jean held up her hand to stop him. "I just want to do something to help." She gave Scott a pleading look, then shook her head and returned to her reading.

After a moment Scott did the same. He had to read the paper in his hand three times before he could concentrate enough to get the sense of it. When he did, he stood and walked over to the desk to hand the print-out to Jean. "I think this might help."  
***********

**Oz: Em City**

Cyril bounced a ball against the glass wall of his pod. He caught it and threw it again with the fluid motion of a lifelong athlete. In the pod next door, Aaron Adler flinched as the ball smacked against the glass again, but said nothing. He'd given up complaining about Cyril hours ago, when his shouted demands to Murphy and the other hacks had been met with nothing more than amused smiles. 

Across the quad on the ground level, Ryan O'Reilly turned the page of a travel brochure for Maui. He spared a momentary glance for Timmy Kirk, who was sitting on the toilet reading the Bible. _Gotta admit it's nice not to be interrupted by a stupid question every ten seconds,_ Ryan reflected. He felt a brief twinge of guilt. _But Cyril's fine. His playmate isn't back yet, so there won't be any trouble tonight._ Even as he thought it, he heard the contact gate rumble open.

He turned in his bunk so he could see the entrance to Em City. Landry strode through the gate with an oddly confident swagger; Officer Holtz followed him. Ryan narrowed his eyes as he caught a glimpse of motion across the way. Cyril had abandoned whatever he'd been doing and plastered himself against his pod door to watch Landry's progress up the stairs. _I wish he wouldn't be so goddamn obvious. He's turning into a fucking faggot._ Ryan squelched that thought before he could continue it. He loved his brother, no matter what happened. _I just don't want to see him suffer. Good thing this isn't going to last._

Landry could feel the eyes of Em City on him, as he had his first night here, walking to his pod after count. He knew Schillinger's eyes were among those watching. And Ryan O'Reilly's. The sensation was disturbing, but he forced himself to ignore it. He had to be good. "I'll send you back," Sister Pete had told him, "But you only have so many chances, Benjamin. You know that if you hurt someone else, you go to solitary. If you hurt yourself, you go to the psych ward. Make sure no one gets hurt." Landry breathed deeply. He just had to make it to the safety of the pod, the safety of being with Cyril.

Holtz waved to the guard station as the two approached Cyril's pod. As soon as the hydraulic hiss announced the door's opening, Landry snaked inside and greeted Cyril with a hug. "Hey," said Holtz warningly. Landry let go immediately, and Holtz retreated to the guard station. 

"Hi Benjamin," Cyril said. 

Landry looked up at him anxiously. "I missed you." He pulled Cyril gently toward the back of their pod, where at least they couldn't be seen from the first-floor pods. "I want to show you something."

Cyril watched curiously as Landry stripped off his shirt. From next door, Adler and his pod-mate Loewe sat on their bottom bunk and stared mockingly at the couple, denying them the semblance of privacy. Landry turned away from Cyril and gingerly pulled off the gauze pad that covered the wound at the base of his spine. "You're hurt," Cyril said in alarm. 

"Not anymore," said Landry with a smile. He turned to look at Cyril. "Do you see? I got it off. I'm done with it." Slow recognition dawned on Cyril's face. He grabbed Landry by the shoulders and turned him around once more to look at the place where the Aryan tattoo had been. "I know you hated it. And it was a lie, anyway." Landry looked over his shoulder at Cyril. "I belong to you."

Cyril let go of the smaller man's shoulders to run his hand down Landry's naked back. Landry let him. But the moment he turned his eyes away from Cyril, he noticed the Aryans in the next pod. They were no longer looking on in mocking disdain. Now they were angry. Adler caught Landry's eye and slowly dragged his finger across his throat. The lights went out in Em City.

Landry turned back to Cyril and waited. Cyril raised his eyebrows hopefully. "Whatever you want," said Landry softly. "Take whatever you want."

Cyril's face held relief and just a hint of hunger. He gently steered his pod-mate onto the bed. Landry leaned back, opening his mouth to greet Cyril's as the older men leaned in for a kiss. The broke away for a moment to pull Cyril's shirt over his head, and they both fumbled blindly with their pants until two pairs of pants and boxers lay on the floor, and Cyril knelt astride Landry, suddenly shy. 

Landry leaned forward until their foreheads touched, and whispered, "You're always afraid in here. Don't be. You don't ever have to be afraid of me. You're the strong one. You remember what that's like?" 

Cyril thought suddenly of Moira, how she used to writhe under him, begging for more while he pinned her wrists above her head. Then he recalled the fear he'd felt when he knelt in front of Schillinger. He shook his head quickly to banish the memory. _I'm different now,_ he told himself fiercely. _I'm the one in charge._

Landry saw Cyril's eyes darken with a look that was half anger and half determination. "Turn around," the Irishman said huskily. With the permanent note of childish anxiety erased, Landry glimpsed the reflection of the man Cyril had been before his accident. 

Landry quickly lifted himself on all fours and turned, raising his ass invitingly. Cyril slipped his hand under the mattress to grab the lotion, squeezing some directly onto Landry and pushing through it with his fingers to shove some inside. Then he grabbed Landry’s hips tightly and pulled him back. He leaned down over Landry's back to whisper in his ear, "You're mine." Then he thrust his hips forward, his swollen cock pressing insistently against Landry's opening. Landry pushed backwards as Cyril thrust again; he muffled a hiss as Cyril's wide cock breached him. 

Cyril held still for a moment, breathing deeply, arms wrapped around Landry's waist, sweat from his chest mixing with the sweat on his pod-mate's back. Then he straightened up, resuming his grip on Landry's hips.

He pulled back, unsheathing himself almost entirely, then pushed back quickly, burying himself to the balls. He threw back his head in pleasure, and he felt Landry's muscles clench around his cock. With a reckless laugh, Cyril did it again, slowly pulling out and then suddenly plunging in hard. He slowly picked up speed, fucking with long, smooth strokes, reveling in the small, helpless sounds Landry was making. 

Cyril's eyes moved to the open wound on Landry's back. He thrust harder as if, by getting just a little deeper, he could wipe out the fact that Schillinger had ever touched either of them. Landry grabbed handfuls of the sheets and bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain and pleasure as Cyril hammered into him.

Cyril quickened his pace, his breath coming fast and ragged as he drove himself over and over into the wet vacuum that pushed back to welcome him. Landry braced himself on one elbow and reached between his legs to run his hand frantically up and down his weeping cock in time with Cyril's thrusts. Cyril loosened one hand's bruising grip from Landry's waist to reach around and cover Landry's small hand with his own. The two stroked together as Cyril drove his cock mercilessly into Landry's upturned ass. 

Landry gave a little gasp that morphed into a helpless yelp as he arched his back, spraying his come onto his own belly and the sheets below. Cyril plunged his cock as far as he could up Landry's passage as he came hard, one hand bruising Landry's hip, the other squeezing the man's spent cock. Then he collapsed on top of Landry, panting wildly as he tried to regain the power of thought.

The two men tensed as they heard the rhythmic thump of steps approaching. Cyril rolled off his pod-mate, and Landry vaulted out of the bunk to stand next to the pod door. He rubbed the length of his naked body languidly up the glass like a dog in heat, leering suggestively, streaking the glass with sweat and come as the hack shone his flashlight into the pod. Holtz rolled his eyes and walked on. After a brief triumphant grin, Landry's eyes caught Schillinger watching him from across the quad, his face in shadow. Landry turned away quickly.

He knelt gracefully next to the bottom bunk where Cyril lay watching him with a slight smile. "Cyril, I feel like everything inside me is vibrating. I want you to have me. For keeps, I mean." He reached out to run his hand down Cyril's chest until it reached his softening cock. Landry gently wrapped his hand around it and stroked leisurely. "Feel how hot my skin is. I love you. You can have me, you can do whatever you want; I don't care."

"I own you," said Cyril. He spread his legs to give Landry greater access. "And I love you."

"You do own me." Landry gave Cyril's cock a particularly emphatic tug. "But I love you." Seeing Cyril's smile, Landry gave one more look for patrolling hacks before climbing back into bed with his new owner.  
*********

**SVU Squad Room, New York City**

"Merry Christmas to all, and Happy Hanukah to you, John," said Stabler, hanging up the phone. "We've got a name. The e-mail address belongs to a Mr. Evan Haslet. Anyone come across that anywhere else?"

A chorus of "no's" echoed throughout the squad room. 

"This is one of the threats the Xavier people passed onto us?" asked Cragan. Stabler nodded. "All right then. Who's going to chase it down?" 

"We'll go talk to the Xavier School people and see if they might know why Mr. Haslet would want--What was it?-- 'you and all murdering mutant scum to rot in prison and Hell,'" said Benson.

"I guess that leaves us to go after the man himself," Fin said. 

"Keep me updated, people," Cragan said as he waved his squad out the door.  
*********

**Oz: Library**

"He can just walk away from us?" Loewe grumbled. "What the hell kind of message does that send?"

"I told them what he did, and Vern just said 'we'll talk about it.'" Adler snorted in contempt. "That's two prags who've spurned old Vern and lived to tell the tale."

The two entered the library. Loewe momentarily leaned in close to his pod-mate and said softly, "I think maybe somebody's forgetting how to play the game." 

Adler said nothing, but took a seat at the long table where the other Aryans were gathered, talking amongst themselves. He waited for a lull in conversation before speaking. "He's not dead, Vern."

Everyone at the table tensed at this statement and turned their attention to Schillinger to gauge his reaction. "I know that," the Aryan leader said calmly. 

"So what now?" Adler asked.

Schillinger smiled disarmingly, as if there was no confrontation occurring. "Nothing's changed. We can still use Landry to get O'Reilly out of the picture."

"How?" asked Loewe with a hint of a sneer. "Our best chance for action was right when Ryan got out of the Hole. Now he's made some kind of deal with little Benny Boy."

"It doesn't change anything," said Schillinger evenly. "We can still use this. We just need to kill Landry and make it look like O'Reilly was responsible."

"I'm glad we can finally get rid of that little mongrel. He gives me the creeps," Schreiber said. "So what's the plan?"

"Loewe," said Schillinger offhandedly, and turned to face him across the table. "You're new to the fold. Why don't you show us what you can do. Aaron will help you out."

Adler's eyes narrowed in anger, and Loewe did a similarly poor job of hiding his irritation. "What's the plan?" Loewe asked finally

"Oh, you can figure something out." Schillinger smiled condescendingly. "Just make sure the hacks think it was O'Reilly. Have fun." He rose to leave, and the other Aryans followed suit, leaving Loewe and Adler sitting at the table glaring after Schillinger.  
**********

**Oz: Interview Room 2**

"And what happened then?" Cabbot asked.

Landry furrowed his brow in concentration. "Then Henri told me that they were going out, and I shouldn't wait up."

Cabbot waited for a moment, then prompted, "The keys."

"Oh, right," said Landry sheepishly. "That I shouldn't wait up, and then Henri handed the keys to Remi and they left."

"Good." Cabbot set down her pen. "That was much better. Don't you think?"

"I really appreciate you helping me, Miss Cabbot," Landry said. "I didn't testify at my trials before, so I'm kinda nervous."

"Don't worry, Benjamin. You'll do fine."

"What if they ask me about...?" he asked hesitantly. "You know."

Alex saw the embarrassment in his face. "What you did with the Castilles?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we'll see what the judge thinks about that issue," she said carefully. "It could be that your relationship with the defendant will be relevant, maybe not. They're sure to talk about the events of June sixteenth. It would be best to be prepared to answer questions about it."

"I mean, I guess I don't mind saying it, but...," Landry leaned further across the table and lowered his voice. "Miss Cabbot, it's just that I don't think the words I know are the words I should say in court. You know, since you said that bad language would, um, unfavorably influence the jurors?"

"Oh. Okay." Alex tried to hide her surprise. _Well, I guess he'd have no reason to know the technical terms for everything that's been done to him. I can't imagine Remy Castille stopping to give anatomy lessons._ "I can teach you the words you should use."

"No, shit. Forget it," Landry said, blushing. "I'll ask someone else. I'll ask Beecher. He'll tell me."

"I don't mind. Whatever you need."

Landry quickly changed topics. "What else are they going to ask about?"

"They may discuss your character. That means they might try to prove that you're not a good witness."

"Cuz I'm in prison."

"That's part of it."

"Will they talk about what I did?" he asked after a moment.

"Maybe. They'll probably want to talk about your crime. But mostly that's beyond the scope of this inquiry, so I can object."

"I'm pretty nervous."

"Don't be." Alex patted Landry's hand where it rested on the table. "You've got nothing to loose and everything to gain. I'll still help Tobias Beecher with your appeal even if we can't convict Castille."

Landry cocked his head to the side quizzically. "My appeal?"

"Right. Tobias Beecher's writing it for you," said Alex. 

"I'd almost forgot... I've had a lot on my mind."

"Just try not to worry, Benjamin. When the time comes, you'll do fine."  
*********

**Oz: Children's Visiting Room**

Dr. Hwang watched Becca Finnessey playing with building blocks while they waited for her father. This was their fourth trip to Oz, and Hwang had begun to look forward to the visits. Even if they had seemed to hit a dead end with what the girl knew about the murder of her aunt, it was gratifying to see Becca open up as she never did outside this room. If the psychologists at Child Protective Services had more time to devote to her, maybe she would be talking to people other than Abel Finnessey. _Or maybe not,_ Hwang told himself. _Maybe she just needs her father._

A guard opened the door to admit Abel Finnessey. Becca looked up from her blocks and said simply, "Hi Daddy." 

"Hey Bec," Finnessey said with a smile. He looked at Hwang. "Hello Doctor Hwang."

"Good to see you again, Doctor Finnessey," said Hwang, working to avoid the irony creeping into his voice. "How've you been?"

"Oh, in prison. You?" Without waiting for an answer, Finnessey knelt on the floor next to his daughter and picked up a building block. "What are you building, honey?"

"It's Heaven," she said, gently perching a block on top of a structure she'd already built. "Where Mommy and Auntae are."

"Can I help?" Finnessey asked. 

"No," said Becca firmly. "You help build that," she said, pointing to another pile of blocks off to the side. "That's the kingdom of Oz, where you live."

Hwang watched Finnessey flinch slightly. "Okay. I'll build that," said Finnessey. Hwang stood up quietly and unobtrusively let himself out of the room. The last two sessions he'd given them a little time alone together. Technically, he was supposed to be present, supervising their interaction. _But it's tough to build that father/daughter bond with a stranger watching your every move,_ thought Hwang. _Besides, the more_  
comfortable Becca is with him, the more likely she is to tell him anything important she  
remembers.

Finnessey heard the door close behind the psychologist as he added a wall to Becca's pretend kingdom. "Hey honey, I was wondering something," he said casually.

"What?" Becca turned her wide eyes on him like a spotlight.

"Jean called me today. You remember Jean?" Becca nodded. "And she told me about a man she knows. I thought you might want to add his name to your collection." He took a deep breath. "Do you have an Evan in your name collection?" he asked.

She frowned in thought for a moment, then said, "Yes. Evan. That's a boy name. Ohh." The last word was sharp, alarming, and she sat up straighter. "He came to repair the sink," she said seriously. "He was there when Auntae was on the phone."

Finnessey bit his lip. "On the phone?"

Becca leaned closer. "With Jean," she whispered. "The day Auntae went away."

Finnessey held his breath. _So he knew Tae was testifying. Just some guy that overheard the conversation. And happened to be an anti-mutant activist. Evan Haslet. It had to be him._

"Do you think he's the one, Daddy?" Becca asked, her voice high and frightened.

Finnessey quickly put his arm around her and hugged her close. "No, honey. He's no one. I was just curious." He kissed the top of her head and let her go. "What's your newest name?" he asked with false cheerfulness.

"Wesley!" she said proudly. "That's my new foster brother. Weh-ess-lee."

The door clicked open softly, and Hwang slipped inside and resumed his seat behind the couple on the floor. 

"Foster brother. Sounds like fun," said Finnessey lightly. "Do you pick on him?"

"No, silly," said Becca, and stuck out her tongue. 

Finnessey said something in reply, but he couldn't hear his own words. _I know who it is,_ he thought. _I know, but still I can't do for Tae what I did for Lydia, because I'm in this place. This place... Maybe there's a way._  
************

**Oz: Em City**

"No, say penis. That's the technical word," Beecher said, leaning against the glass wall that bordered the bottom bunk of his pod.

Landry hesitated, then said, "Penis."

"Say it again," said Keller from his perch on the top bunk.

Landry, sitting on the floor, scowled. "No."

"You're going to have to say it in front of a whole courtroom, Ben," Beecher pointed out.

"Fine. Penis, penis, penis. Happy?" Landry asked sarcastically. Keller just winked at him.

"You remember the rest?" asked Beecher.

Landry rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"Sure you know what those words mean, kid?" Keller asked.

Landry glared at him momentarily, then turned to Beecher. "There was something else I wanted to ask you about, actually. Can I talk to you alone for a sec?"

Keller looked to his partner and received a reassuring nod. He walked out of the pod with a last warning look at Landry.

"What's up?"

Landry pushed gracefully off the floor and took a seat beside Beecher. "I wanted to talk to you about my appeal," he began slowly.

"Oh, that," shrugged Beecher. "It's done."

Landry blinked. "What?"

"Yeah. I filed it three days ago. It'll take some time for the verdict to come back, of course, but--."

"Wait, you mean you already did it?"

Beecher gave him a curious look. "Yes."

"Is it too late to change it?" Landry asked in alarm.

"Why? Do you think I missed something? That ADA, Cabbot, helped me out, unofficially of course. I think you've really got a chance. Honestly."

"Shit!" Landry lowered his head into his hands.

_Not the reaction I expected._ Beecher furrowed his brow in confusion. "Okay. What's wrong now?"

"What happens if they grant my appeal?" Landry asked anxiously.

"Well," Beecher said with a frown, "They'll either send the case back to a lower court for a retrial, or they'll overturn the verdict and pronounce you innocent."

"So I could still get convicted again, even if the appeal succeeds?" 

"Maybe," said Beecher carefully. "If they send the case back to a lower court, it will be because they want some change in the way the trial was run. They'll give you a lesser charge, or try you as a minor, or ban certain evidence. Something like that. So you'd have a better chance of winning a retrial."

"I'd come back to Oz, right? If I got convicted?" Landry asked. His brown eyes bore into Beecher's blue ones, pleading for the right answer.

_What is_ wrong _with him? It's like he wants to stay in Oz._  
"Probably not. If you're convicted on a lesser charge, you might not have to go to maximum security. And if you're tried as a minor, you'll go to a juvenile detention facility. And that's in Mississippi. If they try you as a minor, than so will New York." 

Landry grew tenser with each word Beecher spoke. "Take it back," he said suddenly.

"What?" said Beecher incredulously. 

"The appeal. Unfile it or whatever."

 _I do not believe this._ "I can't take back an appeal, Ben. Even if I could, what would be the point? You want to get out of Oz, don't you?" Landry didn't answer; he looked at the floor. _No,_ thought Beecher. _Why in the hell would he want to stay? Unless... No. I wouldn't stay just to be with Chris. And who does he have who's worth throwing his life away for? Not Schillinger. Not... Cyril?_ "Ben," Beecher finally managed. "You do want to get out, don't you?"

"So there's nothing you can do about the appeal?" Landry asked dully.

"Even if I could, I wouldn't."

Landry glanced up at Beecher, his eyes burning with anger. "Fine." He strode out of the pod without looking back. 

After a moment, Keller wandered back inside. "What was that all about?" he asked mildly.

"To tell you the truth," said Beecher, "I have no idea."  
**************

**Oz: Kitchen**

Abel Finnessey caught Ryan O'Reilly's eye as he followed the serving line. "Can I talk to you?"

Ryan nodded briefly toward the back, and Finnessey abandoned his tray, walking around the counter to meet O'Reilly behind a shelf of canned goods.

"I need a favor," Finnessey said without preamble.

"What?" O'Reilly asked curiously. 

"You heard that my sister was murdered."

"Yeah."

"I need the killer dead."

O'Reilly gave a low whistle. "That's a big fucking favor." _But could also be a good business opportunity._

"I can pay."

"That's a start." O'Reilly grinned.

Finnessey looked puzzled. "What else?"

"Your little buddy Landry."

"What about him?" Finnessey asked suspiciously.

"I want him to rat out Schillinger."

Finnessey laughed. "He won't."

"Maybe," said O'Reilly with a shrug.

Finnessey looked at O'Reilly quizzically for a moment, then said, "If I get him to, can we do business?"

O'Reilly grinned. "Yes."

"Fine. I'll let you know." Finnessey walked casually back to his tray, flashing a disarming smile at a hack who gave him a suspicious look. 

O'Reilly wandered back to supervise the serving line. Liam Meaney came to stand beside him. "What did he want?" he asked 

"Business. But he might be able to help us with our Cajun situation."

Meaney raised an eyebrow. "You mean arrange an accident? Good idea to send a mutant against another mutant."

"No, not that," said O'Reilly. "I mean get the little shit to give up Schillinger. That way Schillinger will be in solitary, maybe death row if we can prove they tried to kill him. And if the Aryans take out Landry in revenge, well..." He shrugged.

"What about your brother?" asked Meaney after a moment.

O'Reilly looked at him sharply. "My brother is my business. I'll take care of him." _If I have to, I'll take care of them both._


	10. Chapter 10

**Oz: The Gym**

Benjamin Landry watched Keller pin Beecher for the second time in a row. "Why do you always let him win?" Landry asked in mock-disgust.

"I don't _let_ him win," said Beecher with dignity. "I just... Just..." 

Keller laughed. "Again?" he asked, getting into position.

"Yeah," Beecher agreed, and crouched to face his opponent. 

Landry wandered to the other side of the gym, taking careful stock of who was where. He installed himself unobtrusively by the free weights and half-heartedly began lifting, letting his mind wander as he watched the O'Reilly brothers boxing a few yards away. 

"Well look, Aaron. Someone's trying to become a real man."

Landry turned slowly at the sound of the mocking voice to see Adler and Loewe sneering at him. "What do you want?" Landry asked, working to keep his voice calm and level.

"Aw, just to see how you're doing, Benny Boy. I've missed you," said Adler. He flashed a wide, insincere smile. "How do you like being out from under Vern's... wing?"

"I don't need his protection."

Loewe laughed. Adler said, "You and your retarded girlfriend are in for some unpleasant surprises. And I know Ryan O'Reilly isn't ever gonna to come riding to your rescue, sugar." He raised a hand to brush Landry's cheek.

Landry stepped back quickly. "Don't touch me."

"Ooo. I'm scared, Benny." Landry's eyes flickered over to the corner where Cyril and his brother were working the punching bag. "Call Cyril. Go on. See how long you last if he goes to the hole for fighting." Landry opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when he felt a hand clasp his shoulder.

"Hey Landry. Come here." Finnessey cast a look of disdain at the two Aryans before steering Landry away.

"I don't need you to baby-sit me," Landry hissed as they walked.

"Fine," said Finnessey. "We need to talk."

"Okay," said Landry warily. "What?"

Finnessey leaned casually against the chain link partition that bisected the gym. "I see you're still having Nazi problems."

"What's it to you?" Landry snapped.

"Look. I know that we're not best buddies. That doesn't mean I can't help you. Now that you've publicly separated yourself from Schillinger, you've got a big fat target painted on your back."

"Thanks for the news flash, Mr. Wizard," said Landry, and tried to pull away.

Finnessey tightened his grip on the younger man's shoulder. "I know you don't want to go to Protective Custody. You probably have your reasons. But I want Schillinger to get what's coming to him, and you're the one who can make it happen."

"I'm not going to kill him." 

"I don't think you should try."

"What, then?"

"He raped you, right?" Finnessey asked pointedly. Landry said nothing. "If you prove that, Schillinger's in deep shit. He'd be gone from Em City for sure, out of your hair. They might even put him in solitary. Go to McManus."

"He won't believe me. I've never told him the truth about anything."

"Like I said: find a way to prove it."

Landry caught a glimpse of Cyril out of the corner of his eye. He was laughing easily at something his brother had said. "I might need some help."

"Just let me know."  
*************

**Highway 16**

Jean clicked her cell phone shut and returned it to her purse.

"Who was that?" Scott asked without taking his eyes off the road.

"Edward Mandelia. He's _their_ defense lawyer." 

"Oh." Scott waited for her go to on. Instead, she sat looking out the window and fuming. "So, what did he want?"

"What good would it do to settle out of court anyway?" Jean burst out. "It's not about damages; it's about showing everyone that mutants can't be treated like cattle."

"So they offered a settlement?"

"Yes."

"Just money?"

Jean hesitated. "No. They said they'd discontinue manufacturing Smart Collars."

"And the ones already in circulation?"

"They said they'd issue warnings. I bet I could get them to agree to recall them."

"That's what you wanted, right?"

"I wanted to make sure no more mutants would have to experience Smart Collars."

"And this would make that happen, right?"

"I suppose. But they haven't admitted any wrongdoing. Someone could do the same thing next year, next week."

"How soon would Smart Collars be off the market if you take the settlement?" Scott asked.

"Immediately. If there's a recall... They should all be out of use within six months."

"And in a trial?"

"I see your point," Jean said glumly.

"It's just one more thing to think about. I don't know what we should do."

"I don't know how to make this decision."

"Well... Why don't you ask someone who has a personal stake?"

Jean was silent for a moment. "I'm not sure what Finnessey would say."

Scott shrugged. "There's only one way to find out."  
**************  
 _Oz: Em City_

Landry closed the door to the office behind him, shutting out the hack who stood on the stairwell. "McManus, I need to talk to you."

"What is it, Landry?" McManus snapped without looking up from his papers. "I'm not in the mood for games."

Landry took a deep breath and then said clearly, "Vern Schillinger raped me."

McManus looked up at his youngest inmate, standing in front of his desk with hands clasped behind his back and eyes downcast. For a moment McManus said nothing. _Years of hearing inmates avoiding ratting anyone out, and now it comes from this kid? He's got to be playing me. I hope he's not._ "Do you have proof?" he asked.

"I can get it."

McManus squinted, trying to puzzle it out. "Do you want to move to Protective Custody?"

"No," said Landry quickly. "I can't get proof if I'm not in Em City. And it's not like he knows I'm telling you. He won't know unless you tell him."

"Right. So what do you want me to do?"

"Just believe me," Landry said, training his wide brown eyes onto McManus. "I'll bring you proof."  
***********

**SVU Squad Room**

"Mister Evan Haslet hasn't been to work at East West Plumbing and Heating since the twentieth," Munch reported to the room at large. "He's not at his apartment, or at his parent's house in Jersey."

"But at work we found his job log, and guess what? He was at Tae Finnessey's house the day of the murder," said Fin.

Elliot grabbed a pen and moved to the crime scene time-line written on the bulletin board. "When?" 

"According to the work log, he arrived at Finnessey's apartment at 3:45, and was at his next job by 5:10," Fin said. Elliot wrote "Evan Haslet 3:45-5:00?" on the time-line.

"Wait a second. Something's coming back to me. Notes." Munch rummaged through the pockets of his jacket until he came up with a little notebook. "From when we interviewed that doctor. What was-?"

"Grey," Fin supplied. 

"Yeah, look. She said she got the call from Tae Finnessey sometime between four and four-thirty."

"So Mr. Haslet was probably in the apartment when Finnessey made the call," Elliot said.

"Was the daughter there too?" asked Hwang.

"Mindy Sabin didn't pick up Becca until seven-thirty," Elliot read from the time-line.

"So Becca must have seen him," said Benson.

"She's never said anything about that," said Hwang. "Unless..."

"Unless?" Cragan prompted.

"Unless she said something about it when I was out of the room," Hwang said hesitantly.

"But wouldn't Finnessey have told you if she said anything that might help?" Elliot asked.

"Of course he would," Benson said.

"Unless he wanted to take care of it himself," suggested Fin. 

"What do you mean?" Hwang asked.

"I mean take care of it the way he took care of his wife's killers," Fin said.

"Oh," said Hwang, suddenly anxious.

"Yeah oh," Fin said.

"I think we'd better find out if Becca told her father anything we don't know," Cragan said firmly.  
************

**Oz: The Infirmary**

Landry gripped Finnessey's arm and whispered intensely, "Give it about five minutes after I leave. No less than that. Then go get him."

"Right." Finnessey pushed Landry's hand away. "Got it."

"This is it." Landry said. He took a deep breath. 

"Break a leg," said Finnessey.

Landry left the infirmary with a friendly wave to Holtz, who was on duty at the door. As he walked down the hall, he slipped a hand in his pocket and fingered the condom he'd gotten from one of the gays. When he got to the post office, he pushed open the door without pausing, and went right to Adler, who was sorting packages by the staff mailboxes. "Where's Mr. Schillinger?"

"Ben!" said Adler with a chuckle. "What a nice surprise."

"I need to talk to Mr. Schillinger."

"You in a hurry or something, _sugar_?" Adler crooned. "No time for your old friends?" Landry tried to walk past, but Adler moved to block him. "Come on. You don't want to have a little fun for old time's sake?"

"What do we have here?" 

Adler and Landry both looked to the source of the voice: Schillinger himself stood in the doorway to a storage closet, a smile slowly spreading over his face. "Look who's come to visit."

Landry swallowed hard. "I need to talk to you, sir."

Schillinger looked at his watch, feigning indifference. "Gosh, sugar. I'm real busy. Why don't you run on home to your Mick."

"Please," Landry said softly, allowing a note of desperation to creep into his voice.

Schillinger and Adler exchanged glances. "Well, when you're so polite. Step into my office." He stood aside and gestured to the closet. "Watch the door," Schillinger told Adler. "This shouldn't take long." He followed Landry into the room and closed the door behind them. 

Landry leaned heavily against the back wall, gathering his strength. "What?" Schillinger asked impatiently.

"I miss you," Landry said very softly.

"What?" 

Landry crept forward, closing the distance between them in a few steps. "You want to punish me. I understand. I didn't live up to your expectations."

Schillinger narrowed his eyes, trying to see what angle his ex-prag was working. _Damn. I should have had Adler pat him down. Not that he needs a shank._ "Get to the point, Ben-ja-min," he said in imitation of Cyril's pronunciation.

Landry didn't miss a beat. Instead, he laid his hands carefully on Schillinger's chest, leaning into him like an affectionate cat, and turned his big browns up into his old master's blue eyes. "I need you," he purred.

Schillinger quickly shoved Landry away, sending him sprawling to the floor. "What's your game, sugar?" he snapped. 

Landry pulled himself to his knees and looked up at Schillinger. "I'm not playing, sir," he said seriously. "I tried to stay away." He reached out to touch Schillinger's leg, but drew his hand away at the last moment. "I can't do this without you."

"What the hell you talking about? Can't do what?"

"Can't... can't anything. Can't sleep at night. Can't be here. Here in Oz. You're the best thing about this place. The only thing for me here." Slowly, Landry laid his head on Schillinger's boot.

Schillinger shook him off and took a step back. "You're on drugs, aren't you?"

Landry shook his head. He sat up, hugging his knees to his chest, but kept his eyes trained on Schillinger's. "I thought I would be okay with Cyril, that he could give me what I want."

"Adler says you look enthusiastic enough when he fucks you." 

Landry cringed. "I have to. Or his brother will kill me. But it's not... I hate it. I need you. And I know you don't owe me anything, and I don't have anything to bargain with, so I'm just here to beg."

Schillinger frowned. "I'm not taking you back."

"No, I know. I fucked that up. I just want... I mean, Cyril just can't..." Landry looked away, to a point on the floor. "He's nothing like you. I'm not satisfied."

"What?"

"When I was with you, everything was... right. You took care of me. Now it's not  
the same. Cyril can't own me like you do."

Schillinger shook his head. "What are you trying to say?"

Landry forced his eyes up to Schillinger's again, his boyish face open and heart-breakingly serious. "I can't think about anything else. I need you." 

Understanding, and a cruel smile, crept onto Schillinger's face. "You little slut."

"I'm sorry."

"You came here to beg me to fuck you?" Schillinger asked incredulously. Landry nodded. "You are a piece of work, sugar."

"Please, Mr. Schillinger." Landry crawled forward to kneel again at Schillinger's feet. "Please. I need this. I need you."

A smile played at the corner of Schillinger's mouth. "Why should I?"

"Please. Oh, please. Look." Landry fumbled in his pocked and came out with the condom. "I know you don't even want to touch me, but please. I'll make it good for you, I promise."

Schillinger watched the young man cowering in front of him, felt his cock jump in anticipation, and couldn't imagine why Landry didn't know how irresistible he was. "All right," he said with a mock sigh. "I guess I'll do you a favor." He watched Landry's eyes light up suddenly like a kid with a new toy. "But I'm a busy man, so don't waste my time."

"No sir," said Landry quickly. He reached up to undo Schillinger's pants, pulling out the man's dick with a familiar, practiced motion.

Schillnger cleared his throat loudly and looked significantly at the condom lying forgotten on the floor. With a slight blush, Landry picked it up. He tore the wrapper, removed the small piece of latex, then hesitated.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Schillinger snapped. He grabbed the condom from Landry and put it on, rolling it carefully down his hard length. "Useless. You're completely useless," he muttered. "Get up."

Landry scrambled to his feet, eyes trained on Schillinger waiting for some cue as to what he wanted. Schillinger slowly stroked himself and watched Landry for a moment, reveling in his confusion. _I think I should give him something special this time, since he came to me so willingly._ Gently, almost affectionately, Schillinger buried one hand in Landry's curly tresses. Landry smiled unsurely. _Stupid prag._

Abruptly, Schillinger spun Landry around and ran his face into the wall. Landry's head bounced back with a dull *thud*, and he began to collapse. Schillinger wrapped his free hand under the smaller man's arm, across the chest, and leaned against Landry, effectively pinning him to the wall. "Is this what you wanted, _sugar_?" he snarled into Landry's ear. 

"Don't stop," Landry slurred. He fumbled with the fly on his jeans as best he could with his body pressed to the wall, and pushed his pants and boxers down to bare his ass to Schillinger. "Come on."

_Unbelievable. If he wants more, he'll get it._ Dick in hand, Schillinger aligned himself with Landry's hole and thrust forward, battling past the resistance of tensed muscles. Landry braced his hands against the wall and gasped in pain, arching his back to press himself as close to the wall as possible. 

Schillinger loosened his grip on Landry's chest and instead reached a rough hand down to grab the smaller man's cock. _Let's see how he likes me now._ He squeezed cruelly, sending Landry jerking back to impale himself onto Schillinger's erection, then forward again into the painful grip, then back, frantically seeking a less painful position. "You like it, don't you Benny Boy?" Schillinger crooned. Landry responded with a pained whimper. 

Schillinger began to thrust savagely, squeezing Landry's cock tighter to make him writhe. It was so warm, and wetter than it should be. _More blood than there should be. Must have torn him up good._ The sounds that Landry made with each thrust sounded pained and frantic. Schillinger leaned close to Landry's ear and panted, "Do you want me to stop?"

Landry threw back his head, narrowly missing Schillinger, and yelled, "No! Don't! No!"

The sound of the door bursting open took them both by surprise, and their heads turned simultaneously to see McManus and Finnessey standing in the doorway, with Adler behind them. 

For a moment, there was only the sound of labored breathing. Then Schillinger pulled out of Landry's ass with a wet squelch and stepped away, tucking his dick in his pants as he did. Landry sank to the floor, pulling up his pants absently.

McManus spoke first. "Guard!" he yelled over his shoulder. A hack came running from the mail sorting room. "Take Schillinger to Ad Seg, please." 

Schillinger looked at the men in the doorway, then down at Landry, who was cowering, face in his hands. With a sudden, savage movement, Schillinger kicked out at Landry, catching him in the side of his face and sending his head slamming into the wall with a loud crack. The hack surged forward and grabbed Schillinger by the arms. "Let's go," he said firmly, and half-steered, half-pulled Schillinger out of the room.

"Get out," McManus said, waving vaguely to Finnessey and Adler. He watched the two inmates to make sure they shut the door after them. Landry pulled himself up to sit with his back against the wall, and buried his face in his knees. McManus crouched next to him, and put a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"No," came Landry's muffled reply.

"We should get you to Doctor Nathan."

"No."

"Can you walk?"

Suddenly Landry's head snapped up and he faced McManus with tear-stained cheeks and pleading eyes. Blood dripped sluggishly from a cut over one eye. "McManus, I changed my mind."

"What?"

"Forget about pressing charges. It didn't happen."

"It's too late, Benjamin. You know it's too late."

Landry let his head drop back to his knees. "I know."

"It's alright now."

"No it's not."

"No, I guess it's not. But you did the right thing, telling me." McManus reached out hesitantly to pat Landry's shoulder.

"No I didn't."

McManus stood and extended a hand. "Come on. Get up."

"I can't."

"Yes you can."

"I don't want to go to the infirmary. I'm always in the infirmary. I hate it."

"Too bad."

"It doesn't usually hurt this bad," Landry said thoughtfully. He pushed off the floor and tried to stand. McManus caught Landry's arm as his legs buckled under him. "I don't feel so good."

"Finnessey!" McManus called.

The inmate opened the door immediately and took stock of the situation in one glance. Finnessey knelt next to Landry and took his hand. "What's wrong, kid?" he asked.

"Why is there so much blood?" Landry asked, and leaned his head against the wall.

"McManus, can you have someone call the infirmary for a gurney, please?" Finnessey asked. McManus dashed out the door. "Ben, can you hear me? Hey, look at me."

Landry looked. "I did it."

"I see that. You're going into shock."

"I don't usually do that," said Landry fuzzily.

"Shut up. Everything's going to be fine. You did what you needed to do. Just shut up, and I'll take it from here," said Finnessey. _This had better be worth it._  
***********

**SVU Squad Room**

Dr. George Hwang knocked on Cragan's open office door and waited for a nod before saying sheepishly, "I talked to Becca Finnessey."

"And?"

"She wouldn't talk to me, but she gave me yeses and nos. She saw Evan Haslet that day. He was there when Tae Finnessey made the call to Doctor Grey, and yes, she told her father the same thing."

"So now the question remains; why didn't he tell you what she told him?" Cragan stood and strode out into the squad room where Alex had just arrived. Hwang followed him.

"Alex. You're just in time for some bad news," Cragan greeted her.

"It had better not be about the Castille trial."

"Which began today, right?"

"Yes. And the defendant is a charming southern gentlemen, that's for sure."

"It's not about Castille. We're just worried that the perp in the Finnessey murder might be in mortal peril."

"Not in any way that's our fault?" Alex asked hopefully.

"I may have mishandled a witness," Hwang said miserably.

"Which witness are we talking about?" Munch broke in.

"Becca Finnessey," Cragan explained. "She told her father the name of our missing suspect."

"And?"

"And he murdered his wife's murderers. He might want to give his sister's murderers the same treatment," said Cragan.

Alex frowned. "I see. But we don't know where this suspect is?"

Cragan shook his head. "Fin and Olivia are out there chasing down our best leads, but so far, we've got nothing."

"Well," Alex sighed. "Just find him before something happens, and there won't be a problem."

"Thanks for the advice," Cragan grumbled. "George, let's talk about your interview with Becca. Excuse us." They retreated into the office, leaving Alex with Munch.

"So you're in court tomorrow?" she asked.

"Yep," replied Munch. "To tell the thrilling story of the arrest of Remy Castille. I'll try not to make him seem like a charming southern gentleman."

"I'd appreciate that." An insistent, tinny beeping rang out from her purse. "Hold on." She flipped open her cell phone. "Cabbot. Oh, hello Mr. McManus. How are-... No, what?" John watched the expression on Alex's face change from polite indifference to tightly-reined frustration in the space an instant. "How is he? ...Which hospital? ...Well we can't just delay the trial... I see... I'll talk to the judge... Thank you for calling." She hung up and swore. John raised a curious eyebrow.

"Benjamin Landry was sexually assaulted earlier today. He's in the hospital."

"There goes our star witness," said Munch.

"Not if I can get the judge to grant us an emergency recess. McManus said Landry might even be okay to testify by tomorrow."

"Yeah, but how good of shape will he be in?" Munch asked. "Sexual assault isn't just something the mind or the body bounces back from in twenty-four hours."

"We don't have a lot of choice. Without his testimony, our case is only half a case," she fumed.

"You could always go visit him in the hospital. I bet no one else is bringing him flowers."

"Very funny. I wanted to review his testimony with him anyway."

"Want me to go with?" Munch asked.

"Where's Olivia?"

"You want Olivia to go with you?"

"She's talked to him several times since he's been in Oswald. They have a rapport. No offence, John."

"None taken. I think she's chasing down our suspect's ex-girlfriend down in the Village. Eliot's around here somewhere," Munch said, waving vaguely to the hallway.

"Somewhere where?" 

"I'll get him," said Munch resignedly.

"Thank you."  
**************

**Oz: Em City**

Ryan O'Reilly nodded to Finnessey when he saw him returning from afternoon work detail, and followed him into the laundry room. "So how'd it go?" he asked eagerly.

Finnessey leaned against the row of dryers and said shortly, "McManus has his evidence."

"Great." 

"Yeah, great."

Ryan took a closer look at Finnessey. "What's wrong with you?"

He shrugged. "You didn't see him afterwards, Ryan. He looked like shit."

"Well what did you expect?" Ryan asked with an indifferent wave of his hand. 

"I saw him after that beating he took in the gym, and even then he didn't look like..." Finnessey trailed off as he thought about the scene in the post office.

"Like what, Finnnessey?"

Finnessey shook his head. "I don't know. Forget it. Are you ready to do business?"

"Yeah. I'll give my guys the go-ahead."

"You need to make it fast, O'Reilly." Finnessey lowered his voice. "The police know who this guy is. It's only a matter of time before they bring him in."

"Don't worry," Ryan said confidently. "My people will get to him faster than you can say 'give thatIrishman another pint.'"

Finnessey gave O'Reilly a skeptical look, but hadn't formulated a reply whenCyril tore open the door to the laundry room and ran to Ryan's side. "Ryan, did you hear?"

Ryan grabbed his brother by the shoulders. "Woah, slow down. Hear what, bro?"

"Benjamin! He's in the hospital!" Cyril hollered.

"Calm down," said Ryan. "Quit screaming. Jesus, I thought something bad had happened."

"Rebadow said that someone hurt him," Cyril went on, ignoring his brother's jibe.

Finnessey gave Ryan a significant glare. The Irishman ignored it. "People get hurt all the time, Cyril," said O'Reilly. "He'll come back, don't worry."

Cyril rounded on Finnessey. "Did you see him, Abel?"

Finnessey ignored the adamant gestures Ryan was making behind Cyril's back. "Yeah, I saw him."

"Is he okay?"

"He'll be fine. He just had to go to the hospital to have a procedure done that we couldn't do here."

"Is he sick? Like when Ryan had to get an operation?" Cyril asked anxiously.

"No," Finnessey said hesitantly. "He got hurt."

"See, I told you," Cyril told Ryan tersely. "Who did it? I'll kill them."

"I don't know," Finnessey lied.

"Let's go Cyr," Ryan said. "Come on. You can make him a get well card."

"Yeah," said Cyril unhappily. "I guess."

Ryan steered his brother toward the door, but turned back to Finnessey. "I'll take care of that thing. Stop worrying." Then he and Cyril were gone.  
**********

**Benchley Memorial Hospital**

"Hi Benjamin."

Landry opened his eyes slowly to see two muzzy figures swimming in his vision. They came into focus slowly. "Hey Miss Cabbot." 

"You remember Detective Stabler?"

"Mmm hmm. What happened to the lady detective?"

"She's on another case," Stabler said.

"Have the doctors said when you'll be ready to leave?" Alex asked.

Landry concentrated hard on following Cabbot's words, and finally formed a response. "They haven't told me. Sorry"

"I'll go ask," said Alex, and went in search of a doctor.

Landry pulled himself up as much as he could and leaned back against the pillows. He stared at Stabler through a drug-induced haze. "Do you want to fuck me?" 

"Excuse me?" Stabler asked.

"Sorry," said Landry quickly. Then, "Do you?"

Stabler crossed his arms over his chest. "No."

"They all do," said Landry, waving his hand weakly. "It's what I'm for."

"This wasn't your fault," said Stabler firmly. 

Landry let out a short burst of laughter, then clapped his hand to his mouth. "Yes it is. So what's wrong with me? Why don't you want to fuck me?"

Elliot tried to sort out a correct response to this from his victim's services training, and came up blank. "I think sex should be one of the best parts of life," he said finally. "I'm sorry that hasn't been your experience."

"You're wrong about everything," Landry said softly.

Cabbot came back into the room. "The doctor tells me you have a nasty concussion, on top of... everything else," she said to Landry.

"Well, someone hit my head with a wall," he said.

Cabbot hesitated for a moment. "He also said that it's hard to tell when you might feel better."

"The trial," Landry said with sudden lucidity. "I forgot..."

"The judge doesn't want to delay Castille's trial more than forty-eight hours," said Cabbot.

"So I need to be ready to testify soon."

"The day after tomorrow is our only chance," Alex said slowly.

Elliot jumped in. "But if you're not feeling well, you shouldn't testify."

"I will. I'll do it," Landry said and glared at Stabler. 

"We'll see," said Cabbot. "Detective Stabler will come see how you're feeling on Wednesday morning. If you feel up to it, he'll escort you to the trial with your Corrections Officer. If not, you can stay here. All right?"

"I'll be at the trial," said Landry.

"All right," said Cabbot. "In that case, I suppose we should go over your testimony one last time."  
**********

**Xavier School**

"Why are you asking me?" came Finnessey's voice over the phone. Jean winced at the muted anger.

"You have a personal stake in the lawsuit, Abel. I wanted your opinion," she said.

"I have other things to worry about right now," Finnessey snapped.

Jean shifted the phone to her other ear and looked to the ceiling for guidance. "There are 400 other prisons in the country using Smart Collars," she said, stalling. 

"So you've said."

"You don't have any opinion at all?" she asked, trying to keep the frustration from her voice.

"Do whatever you want."

"What do you think your sister would have wanted?" she burst out. A dial tone sounded in her ear. Damnit. Jean set the receiver gently in its cradle and sat thinking for a moment. When a knock sounded on the door, she said nothing.

After a moment, Scott came in and closed the door quietly behind him. He sat down next to Jean. "Well?" he asked after a moment.

"I'm going to take the settlement."  
***********

**SVU Squad Room**

Stabler came back to a squad room bustling with activity. He found Olivia filling out a crime scene report at her desk. "You missed the excitement at the hospital earlier," he said. "Alex and I went to visit your favorite federal prisoner."

Olivia looked up and squinted in confusion. "What?"

"Benjamin Landry," said Stabler. "He's in the hospital."

"What happened?"

"I'll fill you in later. What's going on here?" Stabler gestured to the humming squad room.

"Fin and I found Evan Haslet," Benson said.

"Great!" said Stabler, then raised an eyebrow at his partner's reaction. "That is  
great, isn't it?"

Fin wandered up. "Our boy was dead when they found him," he said. "Shot execution style."

"And we're sure he was the perp?" asked Stabler.

"The CSIs turned up blood-stained clothes and the murder weapon," said Benson. "How much more evidence could you want?"

"Well if this guy's so incompetent, why didn't we catch him before this?" Stabler asked.

Munch hung up his phone and joined the conversation. "We didn't have the right contacts, I guess."

"What do you mean?" asked Benson.

"I mean the Westies knew where to find him," said Munch.

"Woah," said Fin. "This was the Westies?" 

"Says my buddy in homicide," Munch said.

"Who the hell are the Westies?" asked Stabler. 

"Westies. The Irish mob," said Munch. "They used to be a Boston phenomenon, but in the last five years or so they've moved into our fair city."

"If it was the Westies, then Abel Finnessey didn't have anything to do with it, right?" Benson said hopefully.

"Maybe, maybe not," said Fin. "The Westies have been known to take on jobs  
rom time to time." 

"Homicide said they'd let us know if they turn up anything we should know," Munch reported.

"Which means we'll never hear from them," said Stabler. 

"So, case closed, then," said Benson. She went to the bulletin board plastered with pictures and information about the case and took down a picture of Becca Finnessey. "And we'll never know why."

Fin shrugged. "Maybe we don't want to know."  
**********

**Oz: Em City**

Ryan O'Reilly leaned against the railing, looking down at the scurrying ants of Em City. 

"Hey Ryan."

O'Reilly saw Beecher take up a position next to him, casually bracing himself against the railing. "Hey what?" Ryan snapped.

"I hear you master-minded the sting that's got Schillinger facing a disciplinary committee."

"Maybe," Ryan half-smiled.

"Lord of the Dance, right?"

"Yeah."

Beecher stood in silence for a moment. "How's Cyril?"

"What do you mean how's Cyril?" asked Ryan, and shot Beecher an angry glare. "He's fucking fine."

"I just..." Beecher took a deep breath. "I mean I don't know if you know how much he means to Landry."

"Don't start that shit with me," said Ryan. He pushed away from the railing and strode off down the deck. 

Beecher followed. "Listen, Ryan. He really cares about your brother, I promise." He grabbed Ryan's arm to stop him. O'Reilly allowed it, and turned impatiently to face Beecher. "Listen. He wanted me to sabotage his appeal so that he could stay in Oz to be with Cyril."

"No he didn't," Ryan said with a sneer. 

Beecher just shrugged. "Think whatever you want. But it's true. You should quit giving him such a hard time."

"Yeah, well, it's not my fault he's in the hospital."

"The hospital?" Beecher narrowed his eyes in concern.

"Yeah. Guess Schillinjer got a little rough with him."

Beecher was silent for a moment. "How'd Cyril take it?"

"He's fine," Ryan snapped. Then, "Terrible. He's a mess."

"I thought so," said Beecher softly. "Know when Landry'll be back?"

"No idea. Even Finnessey doesn't know."

"Well. The kid's got a good chance of getting his appeal. You'd better think of what you're going to tell Cyril if Landry doesn't come back."

"Yeah. Shit." Ryan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, thinking. Then he glared at Beecher, who stood watching him. "I can handle it, okay?"

"Yeah, of course," said Beecher, and backed up a step. "But if you want any help. Well. You know where to find me."  
*********

**Benchley Memorial Hospital**

Landry's hospital room was empty. After an anxious check of his watch, Elliot Stabler inquired at the nurse's station and was waved down the hall. He saw a corrections officer standing outside a door. "Where is he?" he demanded, flashing his shield.

The CO blinked. "Still in the shower," he said, and jerked a thumb at the door behind him.

Stabler raised an eyebrow. "You left him alone?"

"Look, the kid's been through a lot, okay?" said the CO with a touch of defensiveness. "He seemed uncomfortable with me watching him, so I gave him some privacy. I checked the room before I let him in there."

"Right," said Stabler, backing down. "Of course. But we need to leave soon." 

"Okay, relax," said the CO. "I'll get him out." He unlocked the door to the shower room and disappeared inside. He came running out almost immediately, pushed past Stabler and ran down the hallway. "Nurse! We need you!" 

Stabler rushed into the bathroom, struggling to make out details through a wall of steam. He took a few quick steps until he saw Landry kneeling on the floor under the spray of the shower, which was turned up to highest heat. 

"Don't touch me!" he rasped when he saw Stabler approach.

"Okay, okay." Elliot held out his hands peacefully and reached slowly to the wall to turn off the spray. He saw blood mixing with the water on the floor, turning the flow pink on its way to the drain.

"I think I ripped my stitches," Landry said, then dry heaved violently.

"It's okay," said Stabler soothingly. "A nurse is coming."

Landry shook his wet hair out of his eyes and wrapped his arms around his naked chest. "I'm not going to make it to the trial, am I?" 

"Probably not."

"Ms. Cabbot will be mad."

"No she won't."

"I'm sorry," Landry said weakly, and pushed himself into the corner of the shower.

"It's okay," Stabler repeated. "We'll just get you back to your room."

Landry took a deep breath which came out as a sob. He began to shiver. “I'm sorry. I couldn't get warm." 

Stabler knelt beside the crying prisoner, ignoring the water soaking through his clothes. He reached out slowly to pull Landry to him. "It's all right," he said gently. Landry cuddled in close to the detective.

The door burst open with a loud bang, and Stabler turned his head sharply to see the nurse and CO. He felt rather than saw his gun being lifted from its hip holster, and looked back just in time for Landry to kick him in the chest, sending off his feet into the water puddled on the cold tile. With quick movements belying his condition, Landry released the glock's safety, aimed quickly, and pulled the trigger.  
*************

**Oz: Warden's Office**

Warden Glynn watched closely as the members of the disciplinary committee filed into the room and took seats at the long table placed here for this occasion. Schillinger stood facing them, face fixed in a mask of indifference; CO Bradley held him by the arm. One member of the committee, a grey-haired and bearded retired judge, handed Glynn a folder. 

Glynn turned to Schillinger. "Do you have anything to say before we announce our findings?"

"No," said Schillinger tersely.

Glynn opened the folder and read, "Vernon Schillinjer. This board has found that you conspired to and participated in the rape and beating of Benjamin Landry. You are to be transferred to solitary confinement effective immediately."

Bradley pulled Schillinger toward the door. He followed placidly, maintaining his bored expression. The room remained silent until inmate and CO were gone. Then the committee members stood and began filing out. 

Glynn turned to Tim McManus, who'd been sitting to the side watching the proceedings. "Well?"

"This won't change anything," said Tim, voice heavy with fatigue. "The damage is done."

"At least he can't hurt Landry any more," Glynn said.

"Yeah." McManus shook his head. "At least there's that."  
*************

**SVU Squad Room**

Detective Olivia Benson finished cutting out an article from the day's _New York Times._ She dropped the article, entitled "New Orleans Businessman Acquitted," into her file on Castille, and then tossed the scissors into the first open desk drawer. She looked around her work space for something else to do while she waited. Her eyes settled on the well-worn transcript packet of Landry's first police interview. She picked it up and flipped to a random page. 

_Tutuola: Where did that cut come from?_

_Landry: Oh, this? Henri hit me. Back home._

_Munch: Why?_

_Landry: He was scared. After what happened, he wanted to go, but I sat down in the road. He kept telling me to get up, and I wouldn't. Then he hit me._

_Tutuola: And you went with him._

_Landry: Yeah._

_Munch: Why?_

_Landry: It was more effort to stay than to go._

 

Olivia heard the door from the locker room open; she turned around to see her partner standing in the doorway, outfitted in the rumpled spare suit he kept in his stationhouse cubbyhole. "You didn't have to wait," he said.

"I know," said Olivia. She stood and walked over to him. "I just thought you might want to talk."

"I don't," said Stabler, and pushed past her. 

"What happened wasn't your fault, Elliot" she said. 

Stabler dropped into his desk chair. Olivia followed him and sat on the edge of his desk. "I should have known better," he said softly.

"You were just trying to do the right thing," said Olivia. She reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.

"Tell that to Benjamin Landry."

"He made his choice," said Olivia, shaking her head. "We did everything we could to help him."

"Yeah. Even put a gun in his hand." 

Benson recognized the hard edge of guilt in Stabler's voice. "Stop it. Elliot. Just stop it. It's done. Let it go."

"It's not right. We did everything we could. You did more than anyone."

"Elliot, he made his own choice."

Stabler was silent for a moment. "I wish it could have been different," he said at last.

"All life ever offered him was pain," said Benson. "I guess after a while, you just can't make the effort any more."


	11. Epilogue

**Oz: Em City**

Beecher slipped the sealed envelope under the table to Ryan O'Reilly. "We got the postmark and everything. Remember to wait until--."

"I fucking know, all right," O'Reilly growled. 

Aaron Adler came by with the mail cart, and the inmates of Em City lined up to collect the day's mail. After Ryan went through the line, he sauntered over to the crowd watching Miss Sally on TV and tapped his brother on the shoulder. Cyril took his headphones off and waited in silence.

"I brought your mail," Ryan said and held out the envelope. 

"I never get mail," said Cyril.

"Yeah, well." Ryan shrugged. Cyril sat doing nothing until Ryan finally asked, "Do you want me to read it to you?"

"I can read," said Cyril tersely. He snatched the letter from his brother's hands and retreated to the pod they now shared. He looked at the envelope a long time before he finally opened it and pulled out the one-page letter that was hand-written on a ruled page ripped out of a notebook.

_Dear Cyril,  
I hope life at Oz isn't as shitty as I remember, and that you're being nice to your brother. This juvie place is a cake-walk. All the other boys think I'm a bad-ass because I spent time in maximum security. But I miss you. I have to take lots of classes about learning to be a useful member of society. I fucking never get to play Candy Land. But I only have to stay here until I'm 18. So after that maybe I can come visit you in New York. I don't know, though. It's always so cold in New York, and here, at least it's warm. _

_Yours,  
Benjamin_

Cyril shoved the letter back in the envelope. He couldn't decide whether to go back downstairs and throw the letter in Ryan's face or to do nothing. _Ryan thinks I don't know_ , Cyril thought angrily, and went to the pod door to look down on Em City. _He just wants me to be happy, simple Cyril._ He watched Ryan talking earnestly with Beecher until they looked up and saw him watching them. Then he retreated to his bunk and climbed under the covers. _Ryan even said it: people come and go in Em City all the time_ , he told himself fiercely. _I can wait my turn._

END


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